He Don't Need No Hoodoo Mojo
by Lolee
Summary: Dean wakes up on his own before John can make a deal with the demon. How will he recover from his injuries? Is anything permanent? Will Sam and John be able to get along for Dean's sake? IT'S DONE YA'LL!
1. Some Kind of Angel

**I'm back with another story to tell! A dear friend prompted me to write a story that changes how IMTOD ended. So for Laughter…here it is!**

**PROMPT: There was no deal with the demon in IMTOD, but Dean beat the odds, and survived his injuries. Only now, he has to recover from them. How would he deal with that? Would John and Sam be able to put aside their differences long enough to be there for him? What would Dean do if it seemed like some of the injuries might be permanent?**

**I appreciate reviews and more than anything, I hope you guys enjoy reading the junk my brain produces and taps out onto the keyboard. So…here it goes…**

_Vigilance. Don't sleep, just rest for a minute_. Sammy leaned his back against the wall and closed his eyes. Slowly his knees gave and he slid down the wall and sat on the floor next to his brother's bed. Every part of Sam was sore and his head pounded. His face was bruised and busted and his muscles ached. But none of that mattered. Dean was dying and he had to save him. So he'd close his eyes and rest for a moment, stay alert, but rest a little.

Sam didn't remember falling asleep. But the sound of machines beeping and blaring pulled him back to consciousness where he found the room filled with nurses and doctors all huddled around Dean.

_No, no, no. I only closed my eyes for a second_ Sam reasoned with himself.

He pushed his weight through his arms and rose from the floor.

"Is he okay? Move I can't see him. Is he okay?" Sam was screaming above the noise, but no one seemed to hear him. Just then, a nurse stepped to the left and Sam could see Dean's chest. _Rise and fall, rise and fall_. There was no respirator and Sam could see Dean's eyes fluttering open to reveal the slightest bit of green. Sam felt a twinge of relief.

"Sir, why don't you come with me?" A nurse took Sam by the arm and led him into the hallway, his head turned the entire time, trying to get a good look at Dean. "The doctor is going to talk to you in a minute, but why don't you just wait here and give us a little room for now?"

"He's okay, right?" Sam asked with pleading in his eyes.

"Better than he should be", she told him with a sweet smile as she turned and went back into the room.

Sam would have hit the floor if the wall hadn't caught him. For the first time in two days Sam felt like he could breathe. The weight that had been sitting on his chest was gone and he could breathe. He covered his face with his big hand and closed his eyes.

"Sam, what's going on?" John limped through the hall toward his son, startling Sam out of his moment of respite.

"Dean's awake. Doc's going to talk to us in a minute".

Sam studied John and realized he was dressed and carrying the duffle bag over his shoulder. "Dad what's going on? Where are you going?" he questioned.

"Nowhere. It doesn't matter now", John answered flatly.

The familiar rage was starting to build up in Sam again. John always kept him out of the loop, always held back. He knew he should trust John and just focus on Dean for now, but something in him was telling him that they had all just dodged a bullet.

"Mr. McGilicuty", the approaching doctor broke the silence, "I'd like to talk to you about your son".

"How is he", John questioned, leaning over to get a look into Dean's room.

"He's awake and that's good. By all accounts he should be dead, but he has some kind of angel watching over him. He suffered a lot of trauma. Like I told your other son earlier, he has internal contusions and an edema. But now that he's conscious we can give him a scan and find out exactly what we're dealing with". He dolled out the information in a cautious fashion that made Sam a little wary.

"But he'll be fine, right", Sam asked.

"He still has serious injuries. Recovery is going to take time and I can't guarantee that he'll come back fully from this. He has been through a lot. But the fact that he woke up on his own is very promising".

"Can I see him now?" Sam asked, but didn't wait for the doctor's answer before he made his way through the door.

John watched his son rush away as the doctor spoke again, "He's going to need a lot of care Mr. McGilicuty, and I'd like to keep him here for a few more days before we try to send him home".

* * *

In Dean's room Sam stood over his brothers bed and stared at his broken body. His eyes were closed and he had an oxygen mask covering his face.

"Can I talk to him?" Sam asked the nurse.

"Yes, he's conscious", she answered.

"Dean", Sam urged.

Dean heard his brother's voice and opened his eyes a little to look at Sam. He reached up and pulled the oxygen mask down and tried to talk but his breathing was labored and Sam could tell it was taking a toll.

"Sammy. Thank God you're alive, man".

Dean tried to pull himself to sit up and face his little brother but stopped and winced in pain.

"Let me help you", the nurse offered. She pressed the button on the side of the bed and Dean's body rose slowly. His face contorted and he let out a soft moan. "The doctor wants you to have something for the pain if you need it", she offered.

"Please", Dean rasped.

Sam pulled a chair close and sat down next to Dean as the nurse busied herself pushing meds into Dean's IV . He knew his brother had to be in a great deal of pain to have taken the drugs. Dean had closed his eyes again and Sam couldn't help but notice how pale and limp he looked. The nurse placed the oxygen back over Dean's face and left the room.

"Is he awake?" John whispered when he entered the room.

Dean spoke for the first time since the nurse left, "Yes, he's awake".

John smiled and looked down at his son, "Well, kiddo. Doc says it's going to take a little time, but you should be just fine". John looked up at Sam for a second, "But for now you need to rest and Sam and I gotta go and find a motel and a car".

"No", Sam sputtered, "I'll stay here at the hospital".

"Sam, go. You look like hell and…" Dean started.

"No, I'm going to stay here, so drop it" Sam demanded.

"Alright". Dean closed his eyes and the drugs took over. In no time he was sleeping again, oblivious to the dueling glares John and Sam exchanged.

Sam knew there was no way he could leave Dean's side. The fear that had gripped him while Dean was in the coma was holding tight. He didn't want to leave in case Dean needed something or in case the reaper changed its mind and came back for him.

**So…what do we think?? Good…bad…bury my computer and get a new hobby? Either way, thanx for reading and please leave me a review.**


	2. Three Winchesters and a Wheelchair

**I see there are reviews on chapter one, but i can't get to them...but thank you all the same! This chapter should be good...more Dean angst and Sam and John anger..hope we like!! Thanks for reading!!**

It had been a week since Dean had woken up. His color was coming back and he could sit up on his own. But everything seemed to be a chore. He got dizzy and couldn't stand on his own for very long and walking wasn't really his greatest skill. But he was alive and that was something that no one could overlook.

"You gonna miss me when I'm gone", Dean smirked and asked the nurse.

"We are all going to miss you, Dean", she told him, "Now eat your food, don't just push it around the plate".

"Yes, Maim", he told her eyeballing the mass of yellow eggs. But as soon as she was gone Dean pushed the tray away from his body.

"This what you're waiting for?" Sammy appeared in the doorway, his grin a mile wide, with a bag in his hands.

"Thank God. I thought I was going to have to eat that medical waste they pass for food around here". Sam handed the bag to Dean who opened it and retrieved a bagel. "Where's the coffee?" he pressed.

"No coffee Dean. Doc said your kidney can't handle it", Sam scowled at his brother who knew better.

Another nurse came in, this one carrying two small cups containing Dean's medication. She poured water into the blue plastic cup on his tray and urged him to take the pills, "Bottoms up. This is your last dose here at the hospital, but we're going to send you home with these and something for pain, too".

"Thank you", Dean smiled and swallowed.

"Take good care of him, Sam", she smiled and touched Sam's arm as she left the room.

* * *

John was a booming presence in the room once again. "Okay. Dr. Find is going to sign off on your charts and McGuilicuty is going to pay the bill and we'll get out of here", John the drill sergeant was back. He tossed a bag on the foot of the bed. "Some clothes. Go ahead and get dressed".

John left the room and Sam shook his head at his father's behavior. "Come on, I'll help you get dressed".

"Whoa dude. I can handle it on my own, just give me a minute", Dean commanded.

Sam sat in the corner and watched as his brother struggled to get his arms up over his head to take off his shirt, but he couldn't keep his balance.

"Okay", Dean conceded, "a little help with the shirt".

Sam howled a little as he got up and helped his brother. "I'm assuming you can put your pants on by yourself?" Sam questioned.

"Get out of here", Dean threw the white t-shirt he had just taken off at his brother.

Sam reluctantly left Dean alone to get ready to leave. He walked across the hall to the nurses station where his father was signing forms and collecting information. When John realized Sam was there he pulled him aside and spoke to him in a hushed tone. "I don't want you babying him all the time. He's got to start getting better on his own now". The lecture took Sam by surprise. He certainly wasn't babying Dean. He was coming back from deaths door and he needed all the help he could get.

But before Sam could unload on John a nurse appeared with a wheelchair. "I thought you'd like to take your brother out".

Sam smiled at her and thanked her, knowing full well that Dean would fight him on the chair but that he really needed it and would concede once he tried to make it on his own. Dean needed help weather John was willing to give it or not.

* * *

Three Winchesters and a wheelchair met in confrontation in Dean's room.

"Sit in it Dean", Sam demanded.

"No, I'm going to walk out of the front door by myself", Dean argued knowing he was putting up more fight than he had.

"That would be fine if you could walk that far, but you can't. Now sit in it Dean" Sam held his ground and pushed the wheelchair up to Dean.

John stood in the doorway, arms crossed, watching the show his sons were putting on, ready to stop Dean if need be.

"I don't need that chair, Sammy", Dean continued.

"Dean", John interjected, "sit down in the chair".

Dean looked at Sam then at John in the doorway and gave up.

"Fine, but just to the front door. I'll walk to the car on my own".

"We'll see. Now sit down".

Sam wheeled his brother down the hall. To his amazement nurse after nurse stopped them to say goodbye and wish Dean well. Half dead the guy could charm women. Sam would never understand.

Just outside the door Bobby was waiting in a long blue sedan. "Dean. Nice wheels", he joked.

"Very funny Bobby. Thanks for picking us up", he put out a trembling hand and shook Bobby's, "I hear you got us a room at the Plaza", Dean lowered his head and raised an arm to block the sun. It burned his eyes and made him nauseous.

"My Daddy's old place. It's not much but its warm, got electricity, running water and a roof over your head". Bobby was the kind of guy who looked out for his own, and the Winchesters were like blood to him.

* * *

The ride from the hospital to the house would take about an hour and a half. Dean rested his body against the door and closed his eyes.

Sam sat beside his brother in the back seat and let John and Bobby talk in the front. Dean strained to keep it together in the car, but between the light in his face, the quick moving scenery, and the fact that he could feel the car hit every rock in the road, it was just too much. His head was pounding and he felt his breakfast coming back up.

"Sammy. Tell him to pull over. I'm gonna hurl. Tell him to pull over", Dean whispered as loudly as he could.

Sam did as he was told and Bobby pulled the sedan over. On the side of the road Dean leaned out of the car and threw up. When it was over John helped him back into a comfortable position in the back seat and they hit the road.

"You alright, man?" Sam asked.

"No, just give me something to cover my eyes", Dean looked pallid as he took a jacket from Sam and covered his face.

John turned and glared at Sam as though he had done something wrong.

"What?" Sam jerked.

"I don't want you babying him, Sam", John whispered then turned his attention back to the road.

Sam would have unloaded on John right there in the car, but he didn't want to upset Dean and truthfully he just didn't have it in him right now, so they rode in silence till they turned off of the two lane highway and onto a gravel road that led up to the house.

"Alright boys. Home sweet home", Bobby announced as he shifted the old ford into park and beamed with pride at the old house.

John got out of the car and started unloading the few things they had with them. Sam rushed to the passenger side of the car and helped Dean out. He didn't fight Sam at all, but leaned into his brother and made his way into the house. Sam eased him onto an old green and blue couch and fussed over him just enough to get an exasperated sigh and eye roll out of his brother.

"You need anything?" Sam asked.

Dean slowly lay back on the couch, "Yeah. The pill for my head. The pain killer".

Sam found his way to the kitchen table and rifled through Dean's bag till he found the bottles of pills the doctor had sent home with him.

John questioned him as he stood at the kitchen sink and filled a glass with water.

"What are you doing?"

"Dean asked for something for the pain", Sam innocently explained.

"Get him what he needs, but don't over do it. The last thing we need is for him to get used to someone doing everything for him", John whispered.

"Dad, he's sick. So whatever he needs, we get for him. Whatever he can't do, we do for him. You want to ignore what he's going through, fine. But I'm not doing it Dad. He's the only family we have and I'm going to make sure he gets better", Sam raised his voice.

Hushed tones or not, in the living room Dean could hear Sam arguing with their father. The last thing he needed was to worry about playing referee between those two. Couldn't they play nice long enough for Dean to get some rest? He needed to rest as much as he could. His back ached from his bruised kidney and every gleam of light or noise made his head throb. He wouldn't complain though. He was sure it would resolve itself just like the doctor had said it all would. For now he just needed another painkiller and for Sam and Dad to shut up.

"Holler if you need anything else", Sam told him after he gulped down the pills and water.

"Thanks", Dean closed his eyes and went back to sleep. Away from the demons and the fighting and the pain.

**How was it? The next chapter should be up tonite or tomorrow! Thanx for reading and reviewing!!**


	3. No Strings Attached

**Here it is…chapter three! I'm trying to do this quickly and not make a mess of it…so bear with me if I get behind. On today's agenda…Bobby comes back (I really just love Bobby), Dean has his issues, and Sam and John…well, what do you think is going to happen?**

**Thank you for the reviews…you all rock! Keep reading and reviewing!!**

Night had fallen on the old cabin and John sat at the kitchen table talking to Bobby and avoiding Sam. "Did you find it?"

"Yeah, yeah", Bobby waved a hand in the air. "It's at the state police impound in Lincoln. Shouldn't be too hard to get to".

John sighed in relief, his truck was not gone, just locked away somewhere. "You got the time tomorrow to go bust her out?"

"Yeah" Bobby scoffed. "I've got the time, but what about the boys? You want to leave them alone to go after your truck?"

John cast a wayward glance at Sam who had been sitting in the quiet living room, reading the Key of Solomon that Bobby had given him. "They'll be fine. They're usually better without me anyway, and I need my truck".

"Alright", Bobby checked the time on his watch. "It's getting late and I better get out of here". He lifted himself from the unforgiving chair and let out all the moans and creaks of an old man.

John stood and followed Bobby to the front door. "I'll be back tomorrow morning, early, and I'll bring some food by". He looked to the living room, "Hey Sam?"

Sam glanced up from his book, "Yeah Bobby?"

"I'll bring the car back in the morning and leave you the keys. You boys are going to need some wheels till Dean can get the impala running again. Oh, I uh, checked for that one working part you were looking for, and it's the damnedest thing…the radio still works".

Sam smiled and gave a thankful nod. He and Bobby had shared a moment in a junkyard a few weeks ago and now he knew the old man had known what he was alluding to.

Bobby slipped out of the front door without another word. John waited till he heard the car driving away from the house before locking the front door. He continued his stealthy maneuvers, putting stained coffee mugs in the sink and picking up trash, avoiding conversation with his son. He pulled a jug of salt from the bare pantry and laid lines in front of every door and window, then moved quickly to the front door where he placed an amulet on the knob and whispered a pleading. _Lay protection over this place and the souls within._

He double-checked the lock and dead bolt on the door then made a second pass at all the windows, testing them for security. He stopped at the entrance to the hallway and cleared his throat intentionally, gaining Sam's attention. "I'm going to bed. Don't stay up too late".

Sam gave a weak smile and nodded to his father, "Good night, Dad".

John crept down the hall and into the first bedroom. He slipped off his boots and climbed into the warm bed. He lay there for an hour, staring at the ceiling and mentally tracing the pattern on the peeling wallpaper. He knew what he was doing, he just couldn't bring himself to turn it into words and say it to his sons. So he internalized it and pushed it to the edges of his mind, allowing himself to fall into a dreamless slumber.

A few feet away in the dimly lit living room, Sam's eyes strained against the words and symbols on the pages in front of him. He was exhausted physically and emotionally and knew he should get some sleep, but he wanted to stay with Dean, not in an empty bed down the hall. So Sam slept in the old recliner adjacent to the couch. He'd stay there for now, close in case Dean needed him.

When he finally closed his eyes and nodded off, Sam slept better than he had in a long time. No nightmares, no cold sweats, no need to wake up every twenty minutes to make sure his brother was still alive. Having Dean there in front of him, with no tubes or wires or doctors, had taken a weight off of Sam's shoulders and brought him back from the edge.

* * *

When morning broke, Sam woke up in the old chair to find his father sitting at the kitchen table with the colt. He was holding the old metal weapon, caressing the aged wood and staring at it. Sam just gawked. He didn't understand how John could sit and handle the colt with such care and reverence, but never so much as ask Dean how he was feeling. Sam stole a glance of his brother still sleeping so he didn't hesitate to confront his father.

"Making plans dad?" he asked rhetorically.

"Sam", John startled, "I didn't realize you were awake".

"What are you doing Dad?" Sam eased his cramped form out of the chair and headed for the kitchen.

John stood and placed the colt back on the center of the table, avoiding answering his son's question. "I uh, I made a pot of coffee and Bobby should be bringing over some breakfast soon".

Sam stared at John in disbelief. After all they had been through, in Colorado with the vampires and Lincoln with the demons, he was still going to shut his son out and treat him like a child, instead of the grown man he was. "Fine. Just be quiet, Deans sleeping and we shouldn't wake him yet".

Fifteen minutes later, Bobby's rig pulled into the gravel drive with the sedan they had driven yesterday hitched to the back. Bobby boomed into the house, bags of food in hand. "Sam, catch", he coached as he threw the keys to the car at the youngest Winchester who caught them with ease. "I'll unload it while your Daddy makes me a cup of coffee". He dropped the bags on the table, "There's breakfast in there. So you go on and eat".

Bobby went back out into the drive, and Sam could hear the whine of the old rig as it lowered the sedan to the ground. He hoped the noise wouldn't wake Dean, but he wasn't really surprised when it didn't. So Sam set to emptying the bags and inventorying the contents: toaster pastries, bagels, juice, milk, and a small coffee cake. He set them all out on the counter and started preparing a plate for himself.

Bobby reappeared just as Sam sat down at the table. He fell into a chair and looked over at John, "Well Winchester, where's that coffee?"

John chuckled a little as he got up and poured a steaming cup of black coffee, then passed it on to his friend.

Bobby took a long pull on his drink and made a face, "This tastes like sludge…Johnny must have made this shit". He clapped John on the shoulder and glanced out into the living room. "So how's Dean doing?"

The room fell quiet and Sam just stared at John. In the week since Dean had come to, Sam had stayed with him at the hospital, rarely leaving his side. John had only come by to sit with Dean in the late afternoons when Dean was usually exhausted and good for nothing more than holding down his pillow. And even then he just sat in the corner reading newspapers. John didn't know how his son was doing so Sam felt it was his responsibility to give an answer.

"Not bad. He pretty much slept through the night, only got up once. But we should probably wake him up and get him to eat".

"Yeah", John mumbled.

Sam stood over his brother's sleeping form, observing the pallor of his skin and the discomfort etched on his face, and reached for Dean's shoulder.

"Dean? You in there, man?" Dean could feel someone shaking his arm and calling him out of his sleep. He opened his eyes slowly and looked up to see Sam as usual. But his right eye wouldn't come into focus. Everything was a blur and he had to close one eye to get a good look at his brother.

"Did you just wink at me?" Sam laughed.

"Oh yeah stud. And if you come a little closer I'll make your dreams come true", Dean joked.

"Shut up, dude", Sam smiled wide at his brother. "Bobby brought food and you need to get up and eat".

"Alright", he sat up with Sam's help and felt the vertigo. He shifted in his seat until his feet found the floor, and waved an open hand at his sibling, "Let's go big guy. Help me out a little".

Sam gripped his brothers noticeably shrunken frame and helped Dean stand up. He held him lightly by the arm as they walked to the table, Dean's body shifting to the left in right, trying to find his lost equilibrium. Dean blinked a few times, trying to clear the blurred vision in his eye to no avail. He didn't say anything, though. He didn't want to worry Sam needlessly or start something over what could be nothing.

Dean's ass found the seat of the hard kitchen chair and he thought he'd never been so happy. Nothing was moving and he could rest. He could hear Sam behind him, rustling with packages and utensils. Before he knew it, Sam dropped a plate in front of him and smiled domestically.

"Thank you", he sputtered, "Uh, could you get me whatever pills the doc wanted me to take".

"Yeah", Sam replied, turning back to the countertop where a host of orange prescription bottles with Dean's name on them were located.

"And some coffee", Dean added.

"No Dean, no coffee. Doctors orders", Sam informed Dean of his misfortune. Sam studied the bottles and doled out the appropriate doses. He gave Dean a handful of pills and offered him milk and water.

Bright light was streaming into the kitchen and it made Dean's head pound. So not thinking, he acted on reflex and looked down, closing his eyes.

"Are you okay", Bobby asked, setting his coffee cup down on the table.

"Yeah, It's just the light. It makes my head hurt", Dean told him as he pushed the plate out of his way and put his head on the table.

"I'll close the blinds", Sam spit out as he darted for the windows to pull the shades.

John gave a low growl and followed Sam, grabbing him by the collar and spinning him around, meeting him chest to chest.

"I told you that I didn't want you babying him. That's not what he needs right now. You've got to stop coddling him or he's never going to get better. Not with you treating him like a helpless child".

"How the hell would you know what Dean needs?" Sam raised his hand over his head and pointed to the kitchen.

"Because I'm your father", John fought back.

"And what would you know about being a father, 'John'", Sam yelled. "A father doesn't put his own needs in front of his kids. He doesn't desert his family to follow his obsessions. You want to know what a father is like? Look at that guy in the kitchen. Dean has always been the one who took care of me. When we were kids you ran off and Dean was the one who made sure I got what I needed. And two weeks ago, he stepped in front of that demon for me".

Sam's heart was pounding and sharps breaths were forced from his nose as he tried to collect himself and regain his composure. "He has given up everything for me and never asked me for anything in return. That's a father".

"So what Sam? I'm not enough now?"

"No, you've never been enough", he barked.

John swallowed hard. He wanted to yell and he wanted to cry, but he didn't know what he should do. "I have spent my life trying to protect you boys and…".

"You know what? Go to hell", Sam yelled and his voice bellowed through the house.

"Fine. Bobby and I are going get my truck. Watch your brother". John walked into the kitchen and grabbed the colt off of the table, tucking it into the waistband on his jeans. "Let's go Bobby".

Bobby shot Dean an apologetic look as John walked out the door. "I'll call", he said.

Dean lowered his raised head, "Thanks".

When the two older men had left the building and were on their way down the road, Sam spoke up. "I'm sorry Dean. I know you've got to be mad…I just…Dad just makes me so…"

"Relax Sammy", Dean's voice was muffled, coming from the table, "I expected you and Dad to get in to it when we got here". Dean picked up his head and looked at the pile of pills and food in front of him. "You're gonna make me eat that even if I don't want to, aren't you?" He asked.

"Yup…at least three bites of everything on your plate", Sam told him in a teasing voice, as though he were bargaining with a four year old over broccoli. "And take the pills. You'll feel better once you've got the meds in your system".

Dean forced a smile and started swallowing the pills one by one. When they were all gone he started working on the bagel. He shoved a big piece into his mouth and stared longingly at the steaming cup of coffee in Sam's hands. "So, do I get coffee in exchange for good behavior?" He joked, blinking at his blurred vision.

"No", Sam made a show of taking a big sip from his cup, "But Bobby brought you some apple juice".

"No caffeine…oh just kill me now", Dean muttered.

**Well there it is boys and girls. Any questions, comments, complaints?? I hope we all like it so far. I had some killer ideas last night, so the next chapters should be mroe involved...and poor Dean...you guys are going to love this!!! Keep reviewing please!! I live off of them! Peach Pie please...**


	4. I Would If I Could, But I Can't

**Hey Hey! I'm baaacckkk! Forth chapter, and a strong one. Seems a little long, but I don't think you'll mind. Thanks for the reviews. Update is coming Tuesday after work (real jobs suck). Daddy dearest is coming back in the next chapter for all you John fans….but for now, enjoy this….**

A semi obliterated the impala on a Thursday. Dean woke up on a Saturday. The doctors at Shiloh County Hospital released the young hunter on a Tuesday. John left on a Wednesday. Now, the Winchesters were facing life that way, one day at a time. Live through the day, mark it with a label 'Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday' and put it behind you. Today was Wednesday again, one week since John had gone after his truck and left his sons behind with no warning.

* * *

Sam woke up to the rumble of thunder outside. He threw a sidelong glance at the window to his left. The sun was out but hidden by gray ominous clouds and a soft patter of rain was beating against the south end of the house in a slow melodic rhythm. He could sleep for days with the weather like this…cold and damp outside, making the warm and dry inside feel like a safe cocoon. He burrowed himself into the blankets, only for a moment, and dug deep for the strength to get up and do this again.

Dean heard the thunder and held his eyes closed tightly, in anticipation and fear of lightning and the pain the flash would bring. He was right. A few moments later the thunder boomed again and he knew the bolt had passed. In the back of the house he could hear Sam moving around. His brother had slept in a chair next to the couch for the first couple of days until Dean insisted he sleep in a bed and get some real rest. It was a battle, but Dean won.

Each new day was a carbon copy of the previous one. Sam would get up first and make his way to the kitchen. He'd start cooking something for breakfast and make instant coffee for himself. He would wake Dean and offer whatever help his sibling needed. _You need help to the bathroom? How did you sleep? You going to shower today? Oatmeal or toast? Need any pain killers?_ There was the inevitable argument about Dean not getting any coffee, followed by a fight to get Dean to actually eat. After breakfast Sam would give Dean his meds, then clean up the mess while Dean sat at the table in silence. They would talk about all the things Sam was learning from the book Bobby had left, make grocery lists, clean weapons for a little while…anything but talk about how Dean was feeling or where John had run off to. Lunch was the same dance. _Eat it Dean. You can't have a coke Dean, it's the same danger as coffee. We can go outside later if you want to. How about we give Bobby a call._ And Dean was in good spirits for most of it. But by the time early afternoon rolled around, Dean's tattered edges became more visible and he'd be sucking down pain killers and sleeping the remainder of the day away on the couch again. Sam tried not to worry, the doctor told them recovery wouldn't be easy, but he had that uneasy Dean feeling in his bones.

Sam never said anything to Dean about it and Dean didn't broach the subject either, but he knew. It had been seven days…one week since John had left. He had barely spoken a word to Dean in the hospital and not one word in the very short time they had spent together at Thomas Singers old cabin. He didn't want to think about it, but he was wondering. Dean wondered how John could leave the way he did. He wondered if Sam had been right about their father all along. Had he cared more about the hunt and about vengeance than his own son's health and well being? Dean wondered who would stop this freight train that was plowing through his brain and when his vision would correct itself.

The vision I his right eye had remained obscured and what was worse, it was slowly going black. He could see less every day and spent hours at a time with his head down and his eyes closed. This served two purposes: if he didn't look up he didn't feel the light burning and piercing through him and if he didn't open his open his eyes he could ignore the fact that he wasn't all right. Still, everyday his back hurt less, everyday it was easier to get up on his own, and everyday the gash on his forehead stung less. But everyday he still needed Sammy, because he wasn't whole anymore.

The rain had cleared, leaving a gray coat cloaked over the house. They were sitting in the living room watching 'The Godfather'…well, Sam was watching and Dean had his eyes closed, listening. Sam dropped the television remote and leaned forward, tapping Dean on the leg. "Hey man, want to go out and grab some food?" Sam asked.

Dean quirked an eye open and stared at Sam, "Like leave the house?" he asked a little shocked.

"Yeah", Sam shrugged, "You gotta eat and I figure it's about time we both get some fresh air. This place is like a tomb".

Dean thought about it for a minute. Going out would mean getting dressed and walking a long distance and having to deal with the light in his eyes. Well, in his good eye. It scared him a little. But the fact that it frightened him gave him the resolve he needed to do it.

"It might take me a little while to get dressed".

"It's fine. There's no hurry", Sam told him.

"Get me a shirt and some jeans, huh?"

Sam darted to the bedroom and rummaged through Deans bag till he found a gray t-shirt and some jeans. He grabbed Dean's boots in the hall when he came back and tossed the clothes on the couch.

"I'm at your disposal if you need help with your clothes, there", Sam offered, waving a lazy finger at the pile on the couch.

Dean declined and it took him twenty minutes of rolling left and right and cursing and huffing to get dressed. But he did it on his own and felt a little surge of confidence. Sam helped him off the couch and into his jacket and they were out the door.

* * *

It was reliable. Good shocks, brakes were tight but not too tight, it didn't guzzle gas, and it had more pick up than the impala. But that was just it…it wasn't the impala. Dean hadn't seen his baby since the accident and missed her terribly. He settled into the front seat of the Bobby's old sedan and Sam closed the door. He felt like he should be hauled in for treason. _I'm riding in a ford_.

The ride into town was a twenty minute stretch down an abandoned highway. Dean wore sunglasses and a towel covered his head in defense against the offending sun. It worried Sam that his brother was still in so much pain. He really knew nothing about an edema, but he had thought the pain would have lessened in two weeks time. Being trapped in the old cabin, far off the beaten path, he had no access to the internet or any way to look up information on Dean's condition. So he was rolling with the punches, trusting his gut, and flying by the seat of his pants.

Sam pulled the car to a stop in front of a run down strip mall on the right side of the highway. He burger joint on the corner looked promising and so Sam parked the car as close to the building as possible. Dean fought Sam's help when it was offered and heaved himself out of the car, sure he could do this on his own. But he hadn't thought this through. Nearly blind in one eye, he had no depth perception; he couldn't gauge his steps and he couldn't see exactly where he was going. And Sammy still didn't know.

At the house Dean knew exactly how many steps it was from the couch to the kitchen table, he knew how far down the hall he had to go to get to the bathroom. An open parking lot was a totally different animal.

Dean closed the car door and slowly took a few steps away from the vehicle. Sam was there at his side before he could take another breath.

"You got this?" Sam asked standing one step behind his elder sibling with a cautious hand just behind his back.

"I got it", Dean declared confidently, not wanting to admit his defeat or need for his brothers help again.

He took cautious steps, but as Dean tried to walk across the parking lot, everything started to work against him. Even with the glasses on the sun was piercing and he stepped awkwardly to the left and right, over correcting himself before the piercing pain and blood rushing in his ears forced him to stop and grab his head.

"Dean. Are you okay?" Sam lunged for his teetering brother.

"My head. I can't…the light in my eyes, my head is throbbing. I can't do this", he muttered, breathing heavily.

"Okay, hang on", Sam grabbed Dean by the arm. "You want to go in or you want to go home?"

"I need to go home. Just take me back to the car and let's go". Dean was bent over covering his face with his arm.

"Alright, come on", Sam took him back to the car. To Dean it seemed to be a mile long walk when in reality it was only a few yards.

Sam drove back to the house as fast as he could, needing to get his brother back to some kind of comfort, all white knuckles and distraction. He couldn't keep his eyes on the road and off of Dean. Dean just shifted in his seat, face obscured by that damn towel. He was making low hissing noises and soft grunts, breathing sharp breaths through his pain. When the boys got back to the house Sam dragged Dean out of the car and deposited him on the couch, all the while trying to formulate a plan of action.

"What do you need?" Sam asked his brother.

Dean lay back and closed his eyes. "Just give me a painkiller".

"You're not going to eat?" Sam asked, not thinking clearly.

Dean huffed, "Give me a painkiller and go away Sam".

Sam did what he was told. Thirty minutes later Dean was asleep again and Sam's mind was filling up with all kinds of 'what ifs'. He tried not to hover. He could see that Dean wasn't in any immediate danger, but it was still hard not to hang over him and count each breath he took in and out. He needed to distract himself and calm down, pass the time. He ate a little and watched a little TV. He sat at the table and stared at his phone for about an hour thinking he should call John, then gave up and went to bed early. He slept in the chair next to the couch again worried Dean might need him after the day he had, needing to be close to his brother.

Dean woke up around two and needed to pee. He glanced across the room and saw Sam's long body folded into the chair.

"Oh, Sammy", he whispered, not to wake him or because he needed him, but because his baby brother was watching over him like a weary guardian angel.

He pulled himself up and gave his head a minute to catch up with the rest of his body. Blinking in the dark he counted his steps away from the couch toward the hallway. _One, two, three, four, five, six_. His hand glided up and met the wall. One more step and a turn to the right. He walked down the empty hall, a hand on each side to guide him. He found the bathroom door, the first entry way to the left. He went in, didn't turn on the light and didn't close the door. He took care of what he needed to do and found his way back into the hall. _One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight_ steps and a left turn into the open space between the wall and the couch. _Damn it!_ It was nine steps down the hall not eight. Dean hit the wall and slid down to the floor.

Dean sat on the floor, weighed down by the gravity of his situation. Three weeks ago he was a different man. _Bow in his grip, run through the woods, attack from behind, arrow to the heart._ And now he was a pile on the floor, helpless, defeated by his own senses. He felt a surge of defeat. He couldn't see anymore and he was too scared to say anything. Part of him was afraid to tell Sam because if he verbalized, it meant it was true, and he would have to face the idea of giving up the only life he has ever known. And another part feared that Sam would have to give up even more than he already had and spend his time taking care of his invalid brother.

Sam heard the thud and it startled him awake. His eyes swept the room and he felt his heart move to his throat: Dean wasn't on the couch. He looked around and saw him sitting on the floor with his head in his hands. Sam's stomach dropped into his shoes. He moved out of the chair and across the room on instinct so fast that he didn't have a second to think about it.

"What the hell happened?" Sam gasped as he crouched down and grabbed Dean by the shoulders.

"The wall fought back." In true form, Dean was trying to lighten the mood and avoid the situation by employing humor.

"Alright, come on, get up". Sam heaved Dean off the floor and holding him by the arm, led him back to the couch.

Dean lay back down and Sam returned to his spot in the chair. No one was sleeping now. Sam let the quiet fill the room just long enough for the 'what ifs' to fill his head again. What if Dean was permanently damaged? _No, the only permanent damage Dean had was being too stubborn for his own good._ But what would they do if this was something that wasn't going to go away? How was he supposed to carry on the hunt without Dean? How could he help Dean?

"I want to go to the hospital".

The words went up in the air and floated to the other side of the room. It was Sam.

"Why? What's wrong with you?" Dean asked taken completely off guard.

"Nothings wrong with me. It's you. You can't walk a straight line, you keep your head down and your eyes closed half the day, the other half you're asleep, and you pop pain pills every time you wake up. I know you're not okay", Sam ranted.

"I'm fine, dude. I had a brain injury, okay? Let it go". Dean was stern, but Sam could hear the trepidation and fear in his brothers tone.

"I don't think so. Tomorrow we're going back to the hospital Dean".

"I'm not going Sammy. Now drop it", Dean demanded.

Sam had to prove his point and get through to Dean, so he got up and turned on the light. The flare of light assaulted Dean and pierced him like a knife. He coiled up in the couch and covered his eyes in a weak defense. "You see that?" he gestured to Dean's repulsed form on the couch, "That is not normal".

"I've been in the dark, asleep for the last ten hours. Turn the light on like that and any normal person would react the same way, Sam", Dean fought from the space he had enclosed himself in.

"Fine", Sam countered, filled with fear and bravado. "Get up and walk to the window".

Dean took a deep breath. In the week he had been there he had never walked to the window. _Hell, he had avoided it_. But Sam wasn't going to push him into going to see that white coat again. "Fine".

Dean stood up and balanced himself. _One foot in front of the other_ he told himself. He tried to walk a straight line, but he couldn't see clearly and he was stumbling and over correcting himself and fighting to take even steps. He couldn't do it and he knew all along that he couldn't do it. But now Sammy knew too, and that stopped him in his tracks.

"What's going on Dean?" Sam pleaded.

Dean took a deep breath and looked up at Sam. He had to tell him now. Sam was smart and somewhere, Dean knew that Sam had an idea about what was going on all along. They seemed to have that 'freaky twin thing' where one could feel and read the other, finishing each others sentences and knowing what the other was thinking without using words. "I can't see out of my right eye. It was fine, then one day it got blurry, and then it started to go dark. I thought it would get better but its just can't see anymore".

"How long?"

"Since the second day we were here", Dean confessed. "Could you turn off the light?" He asked, a little pained.

"Yeah, sorry", Sam flicked the switch and the room fell dark again. He helped Dean back to the couch then sat in his chair and leaned forward. He rubbed the palms of his hands together nervously and asked the question he didn't really want an answer to.

"Are you in a lot of pain?"

"Not a lot, but yeah. And that little light show of yours didn't help either", Dean replied dryly.

"Sorry man", Sam's apologized, feeling guilty he had brought more pain to his brother. His gut twisted at Dean's admittance of pain…Dean Winchester never admitted to being in pain.

The two sat quietly for a moment, letting their fears eat at them, before Dean finally spoke into the darkness.

"I'm scared Sammy. I keep thinking that this is how it's going to be from now on. I'm afraid that I'll never be able to see anything or walk without a stick or a dog or something. I'm never gonna hunt again or drive again and if I can't see you I can't protect you", Dean rubbed his temples and put the fears that had been eating at him into words. "And you're going to have to take care of me, and I don't want to place that burden on you".

"It's gonna be okay. Just go back to sleep and we'll take care of things tomorrow. You want something for the pain?"

"Please".

Sam went to the kitchen and pulled the bottle of painkillers out of the cupboard. He brought Dean two pills and a glass of water. Dean chewed them and chased them with the water. Sam settled back into his chair and closed his eyes. He could hear Dean's measured breaths as he tried to breathe through his pain.

"It's going to be fine Dean. I swear".

"Yeah Sammy". It came through clenched teeth and there wasn't much conviction behind it, but Sam took it anyway.

**Oh No! What's wrong with Dean? Will Sam make it all better? Will the Riddler get the upper hand? Tune in next week…same bat time…same bat channel…SORRY, I got a little carried away!!**

**Did we like it?? I really hope so!! I have gotten so many encouraging reviews!! They feed my ego and keep me going and you have no idea how much I appreciate them!! And double thanx to my loyal readers who follow me from fiction to fiction!! All of you guys ROCK MY SOX! Get ready, John will be back in the next episode with a friend, and Bobby should reappear soon, too (I just can't get enough of Bobby…he probably has an awesome back story). So…I'm thinking Tuesday for an update! Peach Pie Please….**


	5. Of Friends and Brothers

**So I get up this morning and the coffee pot is going and yeah, it's Monday, but I have a good feeling about today. I make the bed, pour a cup and fire up the old laptop. And what do I find? A gazillion reviews from the most awesome readers a chick could hope for!! YOU GUYS ROCK MY SOX!!**

**And I was right about the good day thing…went to work and to my surprise there was no deadline, no quotes to track down, no annoying editors or interns to fight with. In short I had no article to write about something I don't care about (I am a journalist…in my real life), so I sat at my desk and tapped out this little chapter for my favorite readers!**

**John is back and up to his usual antics. Bobby makes an appearance (again…can't get enough of the old boy) and I included someone new!!**

**A/N: Jefferson was mentioned in the episode _Asylum_ but I haven't seen him anywhere before…so I am stealing him.**

Too much had been lost. Too many people had died. There was blood on his hands, staining him, and reminding him of the cost of love. But when the lights were out and the shades were drawn and he was all alone in the dark, it still wasn't enough. He had spent twenty-two years falling from grace and failing the ones he loved. Hunting and hurting, always pushing a little harder than he had to, a little further than he should have. And now he was back here, lips trembling, begging forgiveness in the dark, hands shaking, whispering an unheard apology, looking for revenge, and asking for mercy.

He fought the memories. A little boy throwing him a football, curling up in his arms for safety, smiling at him when he came home just because, trusting him wholly and without restraint. That little boy had grown into a man and even that man haunted him now. He'd almost killed his son and now his own fears and obsessions had driven him away.

* * *

John and Bobby drove to the impound and busted the truck out. Well…John was _with the owners insurance company. These are notarized documents releasing the vehicle_ of course. Bobby towed it back to the yard and by nightfall the aged hunters had replaced all four bent wheels and she was ready to roll. But for now John would try to rest in the back room of Bobby's less than humble home. It looked like a junk man's dwelling, but those sturdy walls held powerful knowledge of man and demon alike. It was a safe, comfortable place. The place he felt safest since the fire and Mary. So he fell into one of the twin beds his sons used to occupy, and after a few pulls on the bottle of cheap whiskey he kept stashed in his bag, he drifted off. 

Bobby made coffee thick like sludge that tasted like burnt rubber and smelled like vigilance. And that smell was what woke John before the sun rose.

Singer was always up with the sunrise, a habit born of years of fighting the good fight and never letting his guard fall. John stalked into the kitchen and found Bobby sitting at the table with a cup of his special brew, talking to his newest recruit, a Doberman puppy. "Go on, Cletus. Get out of here", Bobby shook a rolled newspaper at the pup and he ran out the back door and into the dark yard.

"Morning" John growled in salutation.

"Morning", Bobby offered, "You sleep?"

John pulled a tan coffee mug adorned with brown flowers out of the cupboard and poured himself a cup of the dark swill. He took a hard swallow and gave Bobby a look that said something like _motor oil goes down easier_ then answered the question, "like a drunk baby".

"You heading out soon?" Bobby asked as John sat down at the table.

"Yeah. Gonna hit the highway and make a few stops between here and...somewhere".

"You're not going back to the house, are you?" Bobby asked already reading the look on his friends face.

"Can't", John said softly, "Not yet at least. I shouldn't be gone too long. Just do me a favor and check in on the boys every now and again. Make sure they've got what they need".

"Not a problem".

John stood and went back to his room, collecting his things and trying to steel himself for what he was going to do. He met Bobby at the back door and shook his hand. "Thanks Bobby. For everything".

"You know, those boys of yours, if I put them in a blender and mixed it all together, they'd make you", Bobby told him.

John was completely confused. "What are you talking about?"

"They're the best and worst parts of you. Dean wears his anger on his shoulders just like you and Sam's got your eyes…it's where he holds his emotions, like you. There's no denying you're their Daddy".

"Well", John said as he heaved his bag over his shoulder, "I'll take that as a compliment".

"That's how I meant it, Johnny". He watched John walk to the truck and drop his bag in the passenger seat. "You be careful now".

"Always" John stated, then he got in the old rig and fired up the engine.

Bobby stood in the doorway and watched until the red taillights disappeared then muttered to himself, "Stubborn ass".

* * *

He hadn't been there in more than a year, but he remembered exactly how to get to the house. The drive took about six hours, but it was worth it when he pulled up and saw the familiar quarters. 

It was an old house not different from the others that lined the highway. It was two stories, four big windows on the first floor, and a wide porch that wrapped all the way around the structure. Jefferson was standing on the porch, sheltered from the noon sun, shotgun at his side.

John shifted into park and dropped heavily from the trucks open door. He walked cautiously to the front steps and looked up at the imposing man in front of him. "Jefferson", he greeted with a nod.

"Been waiting on you Winchester", he spoke gruffly as he rested his firearm on the railing.

"What do you mean?" John asked.

"Bobby sent out a warning. Called a couple folks. Let us know you were hell bent on something, that you'd probably be coming around looking for help".

"And the shotgun?" John gestured to the canon on the porch.

"Not looking for trouble", Jefferson stated coldly, "Just never know if I'm coming or going with you".

John looked at the man and read him like a book. He was a hard man, pushed into this life by the passing of his brother. He was raised catholic by a loving mother and father, the third of eight children. He had done a tour with the Navy around the time of the Cuban Missile Crisis. Came home to south Louisiana to find his youngest brother, Gerald, had gotten tangled up in voodoo and hoodoo and had a demon on his ass. In the end, Gerald was taken and Jefferson vowed to stop things like that from happening to anyone else. And so a hunter was born.

"Well", he said waving John up the steps, "Get on in the house and tell me what the hell this is all about".

* * *

Empty beer bottles and an empty expanding file folder were tossed aside and the table was covered with maps, newspaper clippings, and motel stationary scrawled with writing. 

"So you think it's here", Jefferson pointed at a large red circle on a map.

"Yes, I do", John looked him in the eye, solidifying his resolve.

Jefferson leaned back in his chair and ran his fingers through the three day stubble on his chin. "So what? You just want to walk in and shoot it? You know that's not how it works John".

"Yeah, I know. But me and the boys, we got our hands on something that's gonna take care of this bastard once and for all".

Jefferson looked at John, searching his face for signs of delusion. "What are you talking about Winchester?"

John stood up and started pacing the room. He told Jefferson the whole story. He started with the legend of the colt, told him what happened to Elkins, skimmed through the story about Salvation, and finished with the crash. When he was done he pulled the colt from his person and laid it on the table for Jefferson's inspection. After careful examination and a few moments to make a decision, Jefferson looked up at his friend and nodded in agreement to help him out.

"Thank You", John said as he pulled his cell phone from his pocket. "I'm just gonna call the boys and check in".

* * *

Sam was up early. After Deans late night performance he couldn't get back to sleep. He showered quietly and avoided making coffee so the smell wouldn't wake Dean up. He wanted his brother to sleep as long as he could. Sam busied himself getting ready for the trip to the hospital. He packed an overnight bag and put it in the trunk. _Jeans, sweats, two t-shirts, an amulet, a box of salt, and Dean's shaving kit. _He wouldn't say anything to Dean about the bag, but they'd have it just in case. 

Dean woke up around ten and Sam gave him two more painkillers and his sunglasses. They made it out to the old sedan and settled in for the haul. As they drove Dean leaned the seat back and fell asleep with a towel over his face. There was no music in the car just the steady rhythm of both boys breathing. Till Sam's phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Sam, are you boys okay?" It was John.

"No. But what do you care?"

"I care Sam" John started.

"Like hell. If you cared you would be here, not off chasing the damn demon, Dad." He tried to slow his heart rate and stay calm, but looking to his right and seeing Dean curled up in the seat sent him into overdrive. "You were Dean's fucking hero and now all he can do is sit on that damn couch and wonder where the hell you took off to and when you're going to come back", Sam barked.

"Where's Dean" John demanded.

"He's asleep," Sam told his father.

"He's still sleeping all the time?"

"Yeah"

"He shouldn't be", John was concerned.

"Whatever Dad. Father knows best", Sam's condescension was palpable.

"Wake him up I want to talk to him", John insisted.

"I can't", Sam informed him.

"Why not?"

"Because we're in the car and if I wake him up he'll get sick".

"Where are you going if your brother is sick?" John wanted to know.

Sam glanced over at Dean and thought about it. Dean had been living in pain with this secret and had held out on him, so would he want Dad to know? "We're going out for food". Sam lied to John but thought it for the best.

"Then I'll just have to call back later", John said.

"Fine", Sam hung up the phone and tucked it into his jacket.

When they pulled into the hospital parking lot Sam placed a hand on Dean's chest and gave a nudge to wake him. When he finally sat up and looked at the sprawling medical complex in front of him, the fear and the doctors and the needles all came back to Dean. He wasn't scared of much in this life, but this place brought back what had happened and what he had nearly lost. He was never more afraid than he had been when he thought he would have to leave Sam here alone.

Sam helped Dean out of the car and guided him into the emergency room in the most dignified way he could. He was much more willing to accept Sam's assistance today than he had been before, and Sam wondered if it wasn't for his own benefit. They walked through sliding doors and Dean found a seat in the triage while Sam made the nurse aware that they were there.

"He was here two weeks ago after a car crash and saw Dr. Find. They released him, but he's not doing well and I think someone should take a look at him", Sam explained to the blonde behind the desk.

"Okay", she smiled and handed Sam a clip board, "just fill out these forms and we'll call him back in just a moment"

Dean sat low in his chair and went over the 'what ifs' in his own mind. About forty-five minutes later an orderly came out and got Dean. He told Sam he would have to wait outside, but with some persistence and an explanation that he was in fact Dean's brother and not his companion, Sam earned admission to a small cubicle where the Winchesters waited together.

Dean laid back on a gurney and closed his eyes. The brothers had occupied a comfortable silence for about ten minutes when Dean finally had enough and started a line of questioning, "Did Dad say where he was?"

"You heard all that?" Sam asked astounded and a little embarrassed.

"I was sleeping Dude, not dead. You start a throw down over the phone and I hear it", Dean explained.

"Sorry".

"Why did you lie to him Sam? Why didn't you tell him we were going to the hospital", Dean pried.

Sam felt like he was doing everything wrong. Yell at Dad and Dean's not angry. Yell at Dad and Dean's angry. Don't betray Dean's confidence and get the third degree. "I didn't think you wanted him to know".

"Yeah well, if he knew he might come back".

Dean kicked himself as soon as he heard the words come out of his mouth. He was being foolish. If John couldn't come to his side when he was dying in Nebraska and had left him alone in his time of need, why would he drop his own agenda and come running because Dean had a headache?

Sam knew he wouldn't come back, but he didn't want to say anything to his brother. If Sam was truthful with himself or Dean, he knew the morning that John left, that he wouldn't be coming back. It was the way he stood in front of Sam in confrontation and the look in his dark eyes. But Sammy wouldn't break Dean's heart and tell him their father had abandoned him again.

And before either brother could speak up the doctor opened the door and cruised into the room. "Back so soon, Mr. McGilicuty?" he flipped open Dean's chart and glanced over it to refresh his memory.

"Yeah", Sam injected, "He…"

But Dean cut him off, "Why don't I short hand it for you Doc, keep little brothers emotions out of all of this. 'No tears' Since I left here my head hasn't stopped pounding, I get dizzy spells, light hurts, and I can't see out of my right eye. That's it in a nutshell", Dean forced a smile, like a student who had just presented his term paper.

"What do you mean you can't see?" The doctor pulled a stool up and sat in front of Dean.

"Two days after I left here the vision in my right eye got, I don't know, blurry. Then it slowly started to dim and get black and now I can't see anything".

"Okay, well lets have a look". The doctor removed a penlight from his breast pocket and flashed the light into Dean's good eye. He jumped at the light and held his breath.

"That bothered you?" The doctor questioned.

"Yeah, the light does".

Sam sat quietly in the corner chewing his fingernail. Any form of movement to comfort himself. Like a nervous twitch, only soothing.

"And the other eye". The doctor flashed the light in Dean's damaged eye the same way he had before. Dean didn't move this time, just sat and waited. The doctor sighed and held Dean's eye open, getting close and looking carefully. "And what about your back? Any more pain from the kidney?" He gave the light a click and put it back in his pocket.

"No, my back is fine" Dean submitted. "But I think things would be a lot better all around if I could get my hands on some coffee".

The doctor eased Dean back down on the table. "We'll see. For now let's have a look at those stitches". He raised Dean's shirt and looked at the incisions on his abdomen where they trauma team had gone into his body to try and stop the bleeding.

"Alright. You guys sit tight. Those stitches need to come out and then we're going to give you another CT scan, just like we did when you woke up. We'll decide where to go from there".

"Thank you doctor", Sam offered.

"Yeah, thanks Doc", Dean laid back and did his best to detach himself from his circumstances while a nurse, came in and removed the sutures from his skin.

_Just another day in this fucked up existence _Dean told himself.

**Well…did everyone get their fix? Going to sleep better tonite having read about our lovely Winchesters? I always do. So, tomorrow holds the promise of only one fluff piece to work on and a quick meeting…meaning I should get another chapter out between tonite and tomorrow nite!!**

**And I must say…you guys are the ones who rock! I'm just doing this to entertain myself. Without you guys reading and reviewing I'd be one of those crazy ladies who talks to herself and leaves herself notes to remember to have a good day. Okay…maybe I am a little crazy…but I like it!! And Heather...I can live with chocolate cake...**


	6. Dean Hated Hospitals

**Ladies and Gentlemen…the moment you've all been waiting for…Dean finds out what the hell is wrong with him!!! I put my heart into this and it still feels like a choppy pile of bad writing, so be kind…next chapter will be better I swear! Enjoy and please send me those reviews…I really want to know what you think…**

The smell of a hospital always bothered Dean. The air wasn't fresh at all. It was clean, sanitized, disinfected. The air was always a little too cold, like they were keeping people fresh. Everyone was clearly labeled by their attire and their actions. _White coat/stern face: doctor. Blue scrubs/soft smile: nurse. Faded jeans/frozen features: concerned brother. _Weather they were in to get patched up or if they were working a case, Dean hated these places and they made him uncomfortable. _But really, at this point, what wasn't uncomfortable?_

The nurse removed the sutures and left Dean to inspect his new scars. Both were horizontal, one on his chest and the other just above his belly button. "I look like a landing strip or something", Dean quipped, trying to keep Sam's mood light.

Measures of time marked everything they did. They sat for thirty minutes, Dean first admiring his new branding while Sam laughed at his brothers odd reaction to a permanent physical deformity. But as the time ticked they both got anxious. Sam's knees bounced and teetered and Dean raised his arm above his head, blocking the harsh florescent light from his eyes. "Dude", Dean rasped, "Turn off that light over my head".

"Yeah, no problem". Sam got up and leaning over Dean's form, he pulled a chain connected to a light that hung on the wall above the bed. "You want me to get the doctor? See if he'll give you something for your head?"

But before Dean could give an answer an orderly came for Dean with a wheelchair. Someone was on to him…every orderly or nurse he'd seen was of the male persuasion.

"Mr. McGilicuty" he spoke. The man was tall and thick. Not as tall as Sammy, but big enough to ensure he always got his point across.

"That's me", Dean raised his head.

"Looks like we're taking a ride down to radiology".

"I don't…" Dean started to form a protest against the evil metal chair, but Sam saw it coming from a mile away and cut him off.

"Sit in it, Dean" Sam ordered.

Dean reluctantly sat in the chair and gave Sam a look. "I'll be right back, don't go anywhere".

He let the man wheel him down the hall without speaking a word. Red, yellow, and blue stripes made paths down the hall, all leading to different wards and departments. Dean wondered for a moment if it wouldn't be long before he took up residence in one of those wards again. The mans name was Biff. Dean caught a peak at his nametag when the ogre leaned forward to press the button in the elevator. They rode up to the third floor and exited the elevator in reverse.

The wheelchair was humiliating. Dean knew he couldn't walk and that the chair was necessary, but it carried a stigma of helplessness and need and that hurt Dean more than the damn light in his eyes. When they reached radiology they quickly found the room they were looking for. A small boy was sitting in his mothers lap with a bag of ice help firmly to his arm. The woman was cooing and trying to sooth the little boy while a man leaned over and grumbled about _waiting too long_ and _I know his arm is broken, just splint it already_. A few others were waiting in the same space with other various ailments. To Dean's dismay he skipped ahead of all of the others lining the hall and small waiting area. "It's never good when they let you go first", Dean mumbled.

"I'm sorry", the orderly bent down closer to Dean's face, "I didn't hear you".

"Oh, nothing. I was just remarking how little this place smells like death", Dean chuckled. His dry sense of humor was lost to the unwitting orderly.

"Well good morning handsome! And how are we feeling today?" It was a high pitched shrill that had the distinct twang of southern Arkansas.

Dean glanced up and cringed to find a heavy set technician in a bright yellow smock smiling down at him with the biggest cheese he had ever seen.

"I've been better", he commented, "but hey, lets shove me in that doo-dad over there and see if my brain is mush". He pointed at the imposing machine in the center of the small room.

"Alright", she strummed, "I'm Bertha, and I'll be your cruise director", she laughed loudly, clearly amused by her own wit, "Lets get this wagon train moving, shall we".

With Bertha and Biffs help, Dean laid himself on a cold plastic surface. He sat very still with his eyes closed and allowed the woman to place a small apparatus over his forehead, ensuring he didn't move during the scan.

"Now we're going to slid you on in here and you're gonna hear some clicking and thunking, but don't worry about it. We're gonna get a good look at that head of yours and a peek at your kidney, too. Just don't move and it'll be over before you know it, alright love?"

"Okey dokey", Dean gave her a mocking thumbs up and took a deep breath as his body slowly slipped into the tube. Once he was inside he heard the clicking and thumping Bertha had warned him about. Luckily the confined space choked off all light and Dean had a reprieve from the piercing pain. He held on for the ride and prayed for leniency from the powers that be.

Forty minutes later Dean was sliding out of the machine and rolling back down the hall to his cubicle. Biff moved quickly this time, fueled by the discomfort written across Dean's face and the ill at ease he felt after Dean's comment on the smell of death.

When Biff opened the door and pushed Dean in, Sam was up and out of his seat. He pulled the break on Dean's chair and helped him back onto the bed. The light was still out over the headboard, but Dean couldn't get away from the other lights that they had no control over. He laid back and put his arm over his head…waiting for Sam to speak.

"How was it?" Sam asked as Dean settled.

"Ah, a pleasant stroll with Biff the orderly followed by a ride through a tube, complete with play by play from the lovely Bertha: a technician who could charm the cool off of Frank James". There was no amusement or enchantment in his voice, just deprecation and weakness.

"So what now?" Cautious when choosing his words. ' Don't push for too much right now.'

"Now we wait" Dean told him putting his Sam's discarded jacket over his face, "Quietly".

"Dean", Sam started

"I said quietly, Sam" Dean retorted.

"I just…you said you were afraid you couldn't protect me. But I don't need protecting anymore Dean. It's a weight on your shoulders that you don't need to carry anymore. I'll carry it on my own. And I'll take care of you as long as you need to be taken care of. I owe you that much".

Dean had no idea how to respond. It had always been his job to look out for Sam, to take the burdens, and carry the load. He knew no other way. And he knew he couldn't live watching Sam carry his load. So he put Sam to work, knowing it would make his baby brother feel important and useful, and ultimately work for both of them.

"Sammy", he strained.

"What? What is it?" Sam was close to Dean, leaning forward the slightest bit to hear all of what Dean would say to him.

"Would you go out there and see if you can track down the doc? I really need something, my head is killing me".

"Yeah Dean", Sam was scrambling to his feet, scurrying to the door, his brain going into autopilot as it always did when Dean was in need. _Dean's in pain. Dean need's help. Dean asked, I'll comply._

Sam left the confines of the tiny room and talked to the first nurse he could find. "Hi. My brother is Dean McGuilicuty. He's seeing Dr. Find. He wanted to know if he could have something for pain". It bothered Sam to say it out loud…Dean was in pain.

"Sure", she gave Sam one of those sweet grins they teach in nursing school. _'as it bedside manners 101_ or _The Five Best Ways To Calm Distraught Family?_ "I was just about to check on Dean. We needed run a few other tests, and I'll just talk to Dr. Find and we'll see what we can get for him".

"Thank You", he returned the practiced salutation.

* * *

Dean rolled over on his side and pushed his face into the pillow. _stop, stop, stop. Just for a minute so I can get it together. stop, stop, stop._ But the train kept coming and the pain pushed harder. _Breathe through it, push it out of your mind_. He tried. He tried to think about things that would occupy his full attention and take him away from this hospital bed and the situation he found himself in. He thought about fixing the impala…he hadn't seen it yet, but Sam said they could fix it. He knew it was at Bobby's, in the yard somewhere, so he'd ask Sammy to take him by tonite, if they didn't get out of here too late. He thought about hitting a bar and chugging back a cold one. _Domestic or import?_ He thought about ways to get Sam to go back to New York and see Sara. She could be good for him. He thought about working on his bow hunting. He had taken down that vamp in Colorado, still, he was a little rusty.

But no matter what he schooled his mind to think about and focus on, it didn't stop the pain from coming. The only time he wasn't in pain was when he was in a deep medicated sleep. And he wasn't that way often enough.

He heard the door swing open and knew without looking, that it was Sam. His footsteps always fell hard and far apart. Dean knew the cadence. And he had a smell…like shampoo and musty books. It was all that hair and hours spent pouring over texts. It was a welcome scent. It meant so many things. Y_ou're not alone_ and _I know you bro_ and yeah, _stonger together_.

"Nurse is gonna be here in a minute", was all Sam said as he sat down, affording Dean the quiet.

As promised, a few minutes later the nurse appeared. She pushed the door open with one hand, holding gloves and two cups in her other hand.

"How are you doing, Dean? You're brother here said you needed something for the pain".

Dean rolled over and looked at the woman, "Yeah, I wouldn't mind it".

"Okay. When is the last time you took anything?" she asked.

"Before we left to come here, so about five hours ago", Sam chimed in.

"Okay", she held out a small, clear cup with a yellow sealed lid. "Doctor wants to check your kidney function, so I'm going to need you to give us a sample, and when you're done with that I have some meds that should help with your head".

Dean let out an exasperated sigh and rolled slowly off of the bed. He took the cup out of the nurses hand with a 'thanks' and felt his way to the bathroom, hands on the walls and bedside table. When he came out the nurse slipped the gloves on and took the cup from him. She gestured to the paper cup on the table and he gratefully swallowed down the pills before laying back down.

"Please let us know if you need anything else" she offered as she slipped out of the door and left Sam and Dean alone.

"Do you want anything to eat? I think you should eat", Sam rambled.

"Maybe in a little while", Dean buried his face again, breathing sharply. One trip to the bathroom, a smile at a cute nurse and the freight train was charging again. He closed his eyes and thought about a Glock 350 and rock salt and sharp blades and fast cars.

He must have fallen asleep, because when he opened his eyes again, Sam was standing in the doorway talking to the doctor. "Sammy?" he called.

Sam's eyes darted across the room to find Dean starting to sit up and arrange himself.

"Hey", he moved to Dean's side and pulled the small rolling table close, "Got a surprise for you". He put a paper cup on the table and took the lid off. Steam rose over the cup like a prayer lifting to the heavens and Dean could smell the aroma of fresh coffee.

"That for me?" he asked hopeful and confused.

"Yeah. Doc said it's okay. Said there is no protein in your uh...you know. So you can carry on with that little substance abuse problem of yours", Sam beamed at his sibling.

Dean took a sip of the coffee and looked at the doctor still standing in the doorway scribbling on his chart. He closed his eyes and looked away as he asked, "And what else did the doctor say?"

"Nothing really. Some neurologist who read the CT scan is going to come in and talk to you, but other than that, doc had nothing to say".

Dean knew a specialist wasn't usually called in to look at a scan. They had bigger, more important things to deal with. And once again, Dean was feeling that fear of his future.

* * *

Dr. Joseph Naylor was a graduate of UCLA, completed his residency at Tulane, and had practiced for six years in Dallas before signing on at County. His wife had insisted on leaving the big city and easing out of their fast paced lives. She wanted Joseph to spend as much time with her as he did his patients, and a lighter workload was the means to her end. Patients were few and surgeries were few and far between, so Shiloh fit them perfectly.

Joseph sat in his office looking at Dean's films and trying to decide his best course of action. The patient was young, twenty-six, and in good health aside from healing injuries sustained in the accident. He would explain the situation carefully to him and lay out the options and risks. Naylor looked back at Dean's personal records. No wife or children, a permanent address in South Dakota with his uncle Bobby, and a brother and father he traveled with.

Naylor closed the files and gathered the films and headed to the elevator to find Mr. McGuilicuty and discuss their future together.

* * *

Dean had given into Sam's nudging and was eating. He refused anything that the hospital had to offer and would only eat out of the vending machine. He had finished his first cup of coffee in three weeks and was now happily sipping on his second as he ate a cookie and bag of pretzels.

That's when Naylor knocked on the door then let himself in, announcing who he was as he did so.

"I'm Dr. Naylor. I am the head of neurology here at Shiloh County", he extended his hand, "And you must be Dean".

"Yes Sir". Dean shook his hand and looked the man over, measuring him up, guessing his age and how long he had been a doctor.

"Samuel I assume", he shook Sam's hand heartily.

"Just Sam", he countered.

Naylor motioned for Sam to have a seat and he did. "Well, we all know why I'm here, so why don't we get down to business?" He took a penlight out of his pocket and stepped toward Dean, "Do you mind?"

Dean edged to the side of the bed and hung his feet over, giving the doctor ample room to do his prodding.

Naylor repeated the same physical Find had. He looked into both eyes, one at a time, and made notes on Dean's chart. When he was done, he stood and pressed the films of Dean's CT scan against a panel on the wall. He turned the backlight on and started pointing to the pictures.

"What we've run into here is very simple, Dean. When you were involved in the automobile accident you suffered serious head trauma. When you hit your head it caused your brain to begin to swell. You woke from your coma because the swelling had gone down. So you were permitted to leave. But as you can see in this film, the swelling has increased. That alone should be causing your headaches and pain".

Sam heard 'permitted to leave' and started thinking the hospital was the cause for Dean's condition. "You mean if he had stayed here, he could have avoided all of this? The doctors should have known better and kept him here".

"Not exactly Sam", Naylor cautioned. "You see, with an injury like Dean's the swelling may subside only to reappear later. There was no way for Dr. Find to know that Dean would have a future problem".

"Okay, so what about my vision? What is that all about?" No hesitation, no beating around the bush. His head hurt and he was going blind and he wanted all of the answers.

Sam sat up in his chair, shoulders back, head up, listen carefully.

"The swelling in your brain is not as bad as it had been after the accident. Your vision has diminished because the swelling is putting a measurable amount of pressure on the ocular nerve".

"So what do we do?" Sam asked.

"Well, there are two options. The first would be to try a round of drugs known as triptans. These drugs aren't a promise of a cure though. They are made to prevent further swelling while we wait to find out if the present swelling will go down on it's own", the doctor explained.

"And my other option". Dean put up his strong, stoic façade.

"An operation", Naylor gave it a second to connect, "Brain surgery".

Dean's breath caught in his chest. His heart leapt into his throat and his stomach dropped to his feet.

On the other side of the room Sam stopped breathing all together. Brain surgery isn't something doctors take lightly. It's not like an appendectomy…they don't just do it everyday. If this guy was talking about brain surgery, Dean was as bad off as Sam feared he was. He needed to move. He got up and started pacing back and forth, rubbing his chin.

"And what would that entail?" Dean asked, shooting a glance over to his brother who was walking the length of the room, coming undone.

"We would put a small stint in that would drain at the base of your skull, releasing the excess fluid and alleviating the pressure. If we don't make a move soon, we don't stop the swelling in time, something like this can be fatal. But if we act now, the worst case would be permanently losing the sight in your eye". He wasn't lying or holding back. He was telling these brothers everything up front. "If you hadn't come in today I can guarantee you would have been a dead man by the end of the week".

Dean looked at Sam and saw all the fear in his baby brother's eyes. "Sit down Sammy, it's alright. You saved my ass. You saved my life".

Sam sat down and scrubbed his face with his hands. "So he had this operation, what are his chances?"

"It's safe. He'll live. I just can't give you an answer as to weather or not his vision will come back fully".

"When can we do it?" Dean spoke up.

"Dean", Sam whined cautiously, "We should think about this before you jump into something".

"No thinking Sammy. You stop to think and you get killed". Dean fought with the lump in his throat and his eyes got misty, "I'm doing this. I'm not gonna chance anything anymore. And I'm not saddling you with my problems kid. I'm doing this"

Sam swallowed hard and looked Dean in the eye, "Okay. _We do this_. You and me".

"Alright", Naylor slapped his knee and stood up, "I'll go down and see when we can get you on the board for surgery".

**Ahhh…that took so long to write. And every time I thought about stopping at some point I thought how cruel it would be to leave you guys hanging….so I spilled the beans on poor Dean's condition. Hope you guys are happy….**

**Poor Dean…Poor Sam. I have all these great ideas for the next chapter and for John and for Bobby and for everything!! Update on Thursday night I swear…thanks for the reviews!! You guys continue to rock my sox!!**

**BTW: when I write something I have a mental picture of places and people in my head. Anyone care to tell me how they see the old house Sam and Dean are staying in? (Bobby's Dad's old place). It changes in my head every time I think about it…**


	7. Trucks and Chicken

**Yay!! Chp seven!! Sorry it took so long. I literally had afriend jump off of the top of a building yesterday...okay, so it was one story and they were drinking and everyone thought it was funny till he actually lept off. He's okay...he's got a Steve McQueen complex...but he's okay. Broken foot and bruised ego.**

**So, here is the next installment. And hold on to your seats, the next chapter is almost done..I just need to polish it and stuff. I hope you like it!! You guys rock my sox the way you send me awsome reviews and follow my story!! Keep it up!!**

Naylor left the room as quickly as he could. He had been through this before with countless other families and knew that the two brothers would need time to talk and hash things out. He admired the way Dean took everything he said at face value and understood why Sam had scrutinized every word…it's what you do for the ones you love. You rationalize and sort through the chaos when they can't.

He walked down the hall and climbed into the elevator with about five other people, all lost in their own worlds. When the doors opened up to the fifth floor, Naylor's feet carried him to a familiar desk where a beautiful redhead was sitting, lost in a paperback novel.

"Annie?" he spoke clearly.

The woman peered over the top of the book and smiled. "Yes Dr. Naylor?" She replied.

"I have a patient. Dean McGuilicuty. I need to work him into the board, ASAP. It's an edema, second time he's been in. Gonna have to put in a stint, see if we can help with the swelling", he explained in detail.

Anna Naylor smiled at her husband. He was all business when it came to his patients. She loved that about him. Well, that and the fact that he was the most handsome, well educated man she had ever known.

"Okay", she said thumbing over a calendar on her desk, "You've got nothing after three o'clock tomorrow".

"And we can get an OR?"

She turned and faced a somewhat vacant board behind her. "Uh, two is open all day".

"Okay. Pencil him in". Joseph Naylor leaned over the desk and gave his wife a peck on the cheek. "And I'll see you in the parking garage at six".

* * *

No one moved.

Dean laid on the bed, too tired to move. Too much had transpired in the last ten minutes and he had given all that his pain racked body had to give. So he sat. Quietly waiting for Sam to make the first move.

Sam was in the same room, looking at the same wall, breathing the same air, but he felt like he was in another world. He had already done this. He had already faced this injury with Dean, seen past it and moved on to getting his brother back on his feet. But here he was, staring down the barrel of injujry and pain and consequence again. And Dean…Dean had to be so frightened by what he just heard. _Pull it together, put on your poker face, carry the weight._

"Dean are you sure about this?" His voice was so soft and quiet, it almost didn't register that it was his own.

Eyes closed, Dean repeated his decision, "Yeah Sammy. I'm sure. We do this, we take the next step".

"Do you want me to call Dad?"

"No, not yet. Let's wait until we have things nailed down to drag him into this". Dean sighed and felt his heart grow heavier in his chest. 'If he even wants to be dragged into this.'

"Okay", Sam leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. "We just need to…"

But Dean cut him off, completely aware of where Sam's mind was going and the damage that could be done if he let him continue. "I'm just gonna sleep for now, okay?"

Sam's eyes betrayed his need to see Dean no longer in pain, "Okay. I'll be right here when you wake up".

Dean closed his eyes and slowed his breathing. He put the surgery out of his mind and concentrated on the things he would do once all of this was over. He started to put together a list in his mind. _Fix the car, buy more silver, find out what's jamming that rifle that won't fire, get Sammy a haircut._

The door opened again and the list making stopped. Dean pried one eye open to find Dr. Naylor coming through the door.

"Let me guess", Dean started with a coy grin on his face, "You guys got the filed mixed up and I don't need brain surgery, I'm pregnant?"

Dean could hear Sam huff in the corner, "Would you act like a grown up for five minutes, Dean", he puffed.

It wasn't the most original thing Naylor had heard, but he laughed anyway. It was one of those unwritten rules, 'laugh if the patient makes a joke, always try to make them feel comfortable'.

"No, you're not pregnant. I actually just came from scheduling and we are going to fit you in tomorrow afternoon", he told the boy.

Dean's cubicle was becoming Grand Central Station. The door opened again and another nurse walked in. She was holding all of the supplies needed to start an IV.

"This", Naylor gestured to the woman, "Is Tina. She's going to get you started on an IV and take some blood. Then we're going to start you on the triptans".

"But I thought we were going to do the surgery. You said he was a dead man without the surgery", Sam was breathing harder, growing more confused and desperate by the second. _Does anyone in this hospital know what they are doing?_

"Yes, like I said, he's going to have the operation tomorrow afternoon. Four o'clock actually", he added as an aside. "But we want to give him the triptans now, slow things down, stop any further pressure from building". Then he turned to Dean, "We're going to give you something for the pain, but the triptans should help as well".

"Thank you", Dean whispered. "So tomorrow at four, huh?"

The nurse started poking and prodding. She wrapped a cuff around Dean's arm and squeezed him so tight he thought his arm would fall off. When she finished with that, she stuck a thermometer in his ear and checked his temperature. Everything came out relatively normal so Tina moved on to the blood sucking. She tied a long strip of rubber around Dean's arm and started pressing her fingers down, searching out a suitable vessel. Once she found it she stuck him with a needle and attached a tube to it. Dean watched as the blood flowed out of his body and into a test tube. She filled four different tubes, smiling all the while, then quickly put another needle in Dean's hand, starting the IV that carried the triptans.

"Yes Sir, unless something strange comes up in the blood work or you develop a fever, we should come get you around three. Till then, we're going to move you to neurology and get you into a more comfortable bed".

"Could I talk to you about the surgery in private?" Sam asked.

"Of course. I'll be done with my rounds soon, and I'll be in my office till six. Come by when you have a moment".

"Thank You", Sam sputtered graciously.

"Yeah, thanks Doc", Dean laid back while Tina put a blood pressure monitor on his finger and collected her wares.

Biff reappeared about ten minutes later to take the boys to Dean's new room on the second floor. He smiled at Dean hesitantly, "Ready to go?"

"As I'll ever be", Dean muttered.

"Come on", Sam stood and tried to handle Dean out of the bed and into the wheelchair.

"Let go of me Sam, I can get into a wheelchair on my own. Don't coddle me. I don't need it". Dean didn't mean for it to come out that way. He wasn't trying to be mean, he didn't want to alienate the last person he had, but his fears were manifesting themselves, evolving in his gut, becoming anger.

"I'm sorry Sammy. I…I didn't mean that. I don't know where it came from", he apologized.

"It's alright. I know", Sam took the grips on the wheelchair in his hands and gave Biff a nod.

They left the cubicle and followed the orderly to Dean's new home. Room 264, second floor, east wing. It was a much larger room with a TV bolted to the wall and a large window that faced the pine woods behind the hospital. The bathroom was larger and came equipped with a shower. There was a reclining chair in the far corner and a bench under the window that turned into some kind of bed. Sam couldn't sleep on the bench, but he probably wouldn't be sleeping anyway. At least not until Dean was out of the woods.

Dean slipped out of his clothes and into the t-shirt and bottoms left on the new bed, not easy with the IV taped to his hand. He could feel the drugs they had given him starting to work. It wasn't a freight train in his head anymore, maybe just a passenger car, and the blurred form of his brother standing at the end of his bed led him to believe that the painkillers they'd dosed him with were stronger than the ones he'd had at home. So he laid back against the bed and tried to form whole sentences, needing to impart instructions and important information.

"Saammyy", he let go long from his lips, "I want you house…my stuff. No guns. Clothes…salt my stuff", he wasn't making much sense, but Sam knew what he was getting at. "You can my car…but no chicken with trucks. You make so much mess for one person".

Sam laughed. Dean was so strung out he thought the impala was still running and he didn't want Sam running it into anything. "Okay Dean. I'll pour salt in your clothes and change the car for a chicken truck".

Dean just breathed deeply, slipping away from consciousness, "Good Sammy…salt the chicken truck". And before Sam could acknowledge his brothers approval, Dean was lost to the world.

* * *

Once Dean was asleep Sam left and went down to the car to retrieve the duffle he had stashed there in the early hours of morning. He had known somehow that it would come to this, or some version of this. He double checked the locks on the vehicle and went back into the building pressing the illuminated five on the board inside the lift. He wondered aimlessly down the long halls, watching for a door with Naylor's name on it, but not actively searching. He needed to talk to the surgeon, but it certainly didn't mean he wanted to. Then as he rounded the corner he saw the man's name emblazoned in brass on a wooden door. _Here goes nothing. _He knocked on the door and pushed it open when he heard the man beckon his entrance.

"Hi Sam" the man greeted, looking up from a pile of papers.

"Oh, you're busy. I can come back later", Sam hesitated reaching back for the door handle.

"No, no. I was just reading through some of Dean's medical records", he gestured to forms Sam had filled out that morning and others that had been completed weeks before. "Not much here to explain all the injuries he's seen in the last couple of years. What is it you guys do for a living, anyway?"

"Uh", Sam tried to think quickly, but his brain hadn't done anything quickly in weeks. "Dean and I used to hunt big game, then we joined Dad in the family business".

"Oh Yeah?" Naylor smiled, "What's the family business?"

Sam didn't miss a beat, "Pest control and extermination. The tricky kind. Keeps us moving around".

"Oh", Naylor nodded. "So is that what you were doing before the accident? Dr. Find said that Dean had been attacked and your father was shot and that a semi hit you on your way to the ER".

"Nah, we were hunting in the woods when Dean got attacked and when I tried to get the thing off of Dean I shot Dad on accident".

"Well, you guys have been through a lot lately haven't you?" Naylor asked, offering a sympathetic ear. "So is your Dad around now?"

"No. He uh….he had to go back to work", Sam twined his fingers together and sat down in the vacant chair in front of the doctors desk.

Naylor could tell he was doing more harm than good, so he backed off of the personal questions. "So, what can I answer for you?"

"First of all, please don't mistake my concern for Dean as distrust. It's just that we've been through a lot together and right now he is my biggest concern".

"I understand".

"So, there are just a few quick questions. How long will the surgery take, how long will he be kept in the hospital, and what's the aftercare like?" Hopeful eyes looked up under long brown hair, wanting simple answers.

"Well, the operation should take about four hours, start to finish. It'll be an anesthesiologist, several nurses, a second surgeon and myself. He should be in recovery for a few hours then he'll be moved to ICU for a day or two while the excess fluid is drained through the stint. Hopefully we'll be able to take out the stint in a week. And after that he'll be in his own room, all together he'll be here for about two weeks".

"And afterward?" Sam asked, hesitant because the doctor had not included this in his information.

"Well, it'll be a lot like before. He'll probably sleep a lot as his body will be trying to conserve energy for healing and I don't expect him to have much of an appetite for a while. He'll need constant care, you cannot leave him alone. It's really simple actually. Just treat him as though he had any other surgical procedure. You'll have to help him to get around, make sure he stays on the medication we give him that kind of thing".

"That's it? No restrictions or anything? Just take him home and feed him pills?" Sam asked, almost disbelieving that this could all be so easy.

"Well, anytime you are dealing with a neurological disorder there are things that you have to watch for and act on quickly. Like if you can't get him to stay awake for a few hours at a time, or his words slur, or he acts as though he is inebriated, you have to bring him back here right away. In fact, anything that you think isn't right, bring him back. You're his brother, you know him best. Just trust your gut and act on instinct".

_Act on instinct. Act on instinct. Like the instinct you feel on a hunt. Like the instinct you feel when you drag your brother to a neurosurgeon._

"Okay. Yeah. I can do all of that. But, what about his vision? How long before we find out if it'll come back? Doing what we do, he needs to be able to see clearly". Sam was terrified. He was asking a total stranger to iron out weather or not Dean would be a hunter again, which really meant he was asking if Dean would be Dean again.

"Once all of the pressure has been released, it'll be a time game. We'll have to wait and see how much damage was done to the nerve and if Dean's body will correct it".

"Okay. Thanks Dr. Naylor. I really appreciate all that your doing. And for talking to me. Like I said, I don't mean to be rude, its just…" Sam studied his shoes, "it's just that Dean is all the family I have. My partner, my best friend. And I just want what's best for him".

Both men stood and Naylor put out a hand. Sam shook the man's hand and looked him in the eye when he spoke. "I understand. And I have to say, Dean's lucky to have you looking out for him. I always wanted a brother. Got a sister…completely different situation".

They both laughed appropriately and parted ways. Sam headed for Dean's room and Naylor went to the parking garage to take his lovely wife home.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Dean slept the rest of the day and long into the night. Sam kept vigil in the chair in the corner, listening for any sound Dean made. A nurse had come in around ten and given Dean another round of pain medication and checked his vitals. A few times he got up and stood over Dean, hand on his brothers chest, feeling the rise and fall, assuring him that Dean was in fact still alive.

Around five Dean woke up with a low moan. _Ahhh freight trains rolling._

"S-Sammy" He didn't bother to open his eyes, he knew Sam would be there with him.

Sam had heard the moan and was at his brother's side before Dean muttered his name.

"Yeah Dean, right here".

Dean reached up and grabbed Sam's thin arm, gripping him as tightly as he could. "Call the nurse" he whimpered. And Dean doesn't whimper.

"What's wrong Dean? Tell me what's wrong?" Sam was frantic, trying to break free of Dean's grip and get a good look at the man.

"My head, Sammy", he was breathing hard, "Just call the damn nurse in here".

Sam mashed the button on the side of the bed. Once, twice, three times. No one answered so he ran out of the door and into the hallway, searching out anyone in a pair of scrubs.

An unsuspecting woman came around the corner to the left and Sam lunged, grabbing her by the shoulders. "There's something wrong", he panted, "My brother needs help".

"Okay, okay", She shook Sam loose and looked into terrified eyes, "What's your brothers name?"

"Dean Win – McGuilicuty. Room 264", he sputtered out, having almost no control of himself.

"Okay", she soothed, "Go back to him and someone will be there in just a second".

Sam ran back to Dean, his long legs making quick work of the task. And as he barreled through the door, he found another nurse pushing more meds into Deans IV.

"What are you doing? Is he okay?"

"He's fine", she spoke with a smile on her lips, "But you gave us all a scare".

"What is that? What are you giving him?" Sam wanted to know what had made Dean calm down so much, so quickly.

"Same thing we gave him yesterday", she drew the needle out of the IV and dropped it in a sharps container. "He hadn't had anything for the pain in since last night. It just got the better of him when he woke up".

"So he's not hurting anymore", Sam questioned with desperation.

"Not much, but he'll be much better in a few minutes. Take it easy, Mr. McGuilicuty. We're taking care of your brother". She rubbed his arm for a moment in an attempt to sooth Sam.

"Thank You", he muttered as she walked out of the room.

"Sorry" Dean whispered.

Sam looked at his brother confused. _What the hell does he have to be sorry for? If it weren't for me he wouldn't have tangled with the demon and he wouldn't have needed to be taken to the ER. Meaning he wouldn't have been in the damn accident in the first place. And he wouldn't be here. I'm the one who should be apologizing._

"What are you talking about Dean?"

"Sorry I scared you like that. Nurse said you almost killed someone looking for the doc". Dean opened both eyes then squinted and shut his right eye, trying to get a good look at Sam.

"You just keep winking at me…what you think you're gonna get lucky?" Sam laughed. He was using Dean's humor crutch to move things along and out of this awkward state.

Dean thumbed the sheets that were pulled closely to his chest. "Hey Sam. I think we should go ahead and call Dad. I mean its what? Ten hours till take off? I just, I want to see him before I go". Dean's eyes looked sad and painful.

Sam looked and Dean, making sure this is what he actually wanted. "Okay. You want to do it or you want me to?"

"You do it. I can't tell him".

Sam crossed the room and found his jacket. He fished his phone out of the pocket and hit two on the speed dial. He held the phone close to his ear, listening to the rings and trying to decide what he would say to his father. _Hey Dad, it's Sam. No, I'm not calling because I want to talk to you. Dean just wanted you to drop by the hospital before they wheel him into brain surgery. Oh, and you shouldn't come if you plan on starting any crap. And be gone before he wakes up. This isn't about you._ Yeah something like that.

But Sam came back to himself when John's voicemail picked up. He arched a brow at Dean and ended the call. "He's not answering", he stated flatly. Sam's heart started to break, cause he was sure he just saw Dean's shatter. "I'll keep trying".

Dean nodded his head then looked back at Sam. "So…what were you saying yesterday about salting trucks and chicken?"

Sam just laughed. _Yeah, salting trucks and chicken Dean_.

**Will Dean go through with the surgery? Will John get there in time? Will Sam cry like a baby (don't hold your breath)? Will i forget what I'm talking about and keep typing??**

**Loved it? Hated it? Think Dean's acting like a girl? I never know...just bear with me. Keep sending the reviews, I really appreciate them...and...chapter 8 should be up tomorrow. I know...amazing.**


	8. Just Take The Next Step

**Okay…here it is…big emo chapter…get your tissues ready. A lot of this is a play on things I have experienced, so I hope you guys appreciate it. My description of the house is in here…let me know what you think. Oh…and I wish you would all listen to the song 'Name' by the Goo Goo Dolls – it's Sam and Dean's anthem…seriously 'and now we're grown up orphans who never knew their names' so poetic and perfect. Enjoy!!**

It was an itch in his bones, something he had been trying to scratch for two decades, and now he was so close he could almost feel the ease of relief. He had a plan, he had supplies, now he needed reinforcements. His mind wondered as he lay in the dark silence. He had burned so many bridges, let his passion and fervor for vengeance drive away those who he knew could help him now, in his hour of need. It was just another one of those costs of love.

* * *

Jefferson's house was a hunter's cathouse. It held seven bedrooms, one for Jefferson and six others that had been built from an original three. It was necessity, really. Too many hunters passed through his halls, needing a place to stay and sleep off whatever they had just tangled with. John had slept in the last room on the right side of the hall, far from Jefferson, not sure the man wouldn't try to kill him in his sleep. _Yeah, another one of those burned bridges._

John rolled off of the cot and hit the floor. Same PT every morning, no matter where he woke up; motel, abandoned building, parking lot. _One hundred push ups, fifty crunches, fifty jumping jacks to get the blood flowing. _He grunted them out, numbers becoming nothing more than guttural sounds. He was getting older, arthritis creeping into his joints, and each morning this routine got a little harder. But it was necessary. _Peak physical condition, always at the top of your game, a head above the rest, more than the enemy is expecting._

When he finished his work, John abandoned the small room and its unforgiving accommodations. He walked down the long hall and headed down the stairs, pulled by the smell of coffee and a hunger for action.

Jefferson was at the kitchen table, coffee in hand, pouring over the papers John had brought to him the previous day. The windows that stood the height of the house were all open, letting the cold and wet morning air into the house. The sun was barely peaking over the line of ferns and trees behind the old house and the distant sound of the wildlife in the woods played in the air.

John ambled to the coffee pot and poured himself a cup. He noticed the bottle of un-capped whiskey on the bar and decided to help himself. He poured a generous amount into his cup, being watched by Jefferson all the while. He sat down at the table, not oblivious to the fact that neither hunter was yet to speak, and began studying the notes that Jefferson had made in the margins of his paperwork.

Jefferson just stared at John for a moment, waiting for words, but he got nothing, so he broke the silence. "Alright. All hands on deck. I'm thinking we're going to need a few more corroborators in this thing. People you haven't pissed off, yet".

"Oh would you can the Navy crap, 'all hands on deck'", he mocked. "And you say it like I walk around shoving shit in people's faces, making enemies out of everyone".

Jefferson looked at John like he was surprised that he was putting it all together so late in the game. "That's what you do Winchester. And ain't nothing wrong with my Navy background. SEALS trained me up good, could kick your Marine ass any day of the week. 'Specially the way you dose your coffee like that".

John just lifted his mug in the air and smiled, "Ooh-Rah".

"Alright, alright", Jefferson coaxed, "So, I'm thinking we have a few options as far as man power. Joshua is working a salt and burn in Arkansas, so I figure we can get him here pretty quick. Bobby is a given, he'll close up shop and come if we call. And what about Dwight Gregg? You haven't screwed him over somehow, have you?"

The eyes that peered up at Jefferson were not angry or humored for that matter. They were tired and unamused. "No, I don't think so. I haven't seen Dwight in years". His mind traveled back, trying to find the last memory of the hunter. _Oh Yeah, at Bobby's house. He left just before Singer came out that door with his shotgun._

"Don't have his number", John left the memory where he had found it, "you'll have to give him a ring".

"No problem, Winchester", He stood and placed his coffee cup in the sink, leaving a thunking noise as porcelain met aluminum. He turned around and placed his weight against the sink. "You talk to your boys yesterday?"

John took a deep breath, "Talked to Sam. Won't say much to me, only that Dean's getting on. He just loves to ride that line and see how far he can push".

"Wonder where he got that from?" Jefferson teased.

John scoffed, he didn't need one more person telling him how much his children were like him. He wasn't too impressed with himself right now and honestly would have rather thought they were like their mother or grandfather, or hell, Bobby or Jefferson. "So, you call Dwight and Joshua and I'll give Bobby a call".

"Yeah, alright". Jefferson opened a drawer and dug through a half dozen prepaid phones before choosing a blue one. He turned it on and started dialing as John walked out onto the back porch.

He pulled his own phone from his pocket and dialed Bobby's number. Of all the hunters John knew, Bobby was the only one who refused to join the twenty-first century and buy a mobile phone. _Don't need it. Got the landline and my CB radio. You can always get to me, one way or another._

* * *

Hundreds of miles away in sleepy, dusty, South Dakota, a phone started ringing. Bobby had an idea who was on the other end of the line, but answered it anyway.

"Singer's Salvage", the rehearsed greeting.

"Bobby. It's John".

"Where the hell are you Winchester? Your boy called here a dozen times last week looking for you?" Bobby barked into the phone.

"Sam?" His voice filled with hope. If Sam was angry because he had not come home, that was easier for John to smooth over than other things.

"No", Bobby corrected him, "Dean".

"You been by the house to check on them lately?"

"Nah, but I'm heading out on a run in a few, I can drop by there, if you want me to".

"Yeah, drop by unannounced, see how prepared Sam is and make sure Dean's alright, and I'll call you later. Got some work for you…" John's phone beeped and he lost the signal and Bobby.

There was no way for John to know that Sam was trying to call. He was in the middle of south Louisiana 'drive till you hit the water then turn left', ten miles from a marsh, thirty miles from anything that resembled a town, and another seventy miles from a cell tower.

"Signal comes and goes", Jefferson snuck up behind him. He pointed to deep gray clouds rolling across the sky, "See that? Storms coming in off the gulf. There ain't no way you're getting through to anyone anytime soon".

"Great", John protested. "Did you find Joshua and Dwight?"

"Oh Yeah. Dwight said he'd be here by late afternoon and Joshua made some comment about cleaning up your mess all the time, and promised to make it by lunch". He looked at John, measuring him up, deciding weather or not he should be putting his life and the lives of his colleagues on the line for some obsession. He smacked John on the back and nodded toward the house, "Come on, we clean weapons and get ready while we wait for them".

* * *

Bobby looked down at the puppy sitting on the floor at his feet, whimpering and begging with big brown eyes. "You know, you're almost as good at that as Sam", he muttered to the dog and dropped his beef jerky on the floor. The animal yelped and chewed it up happily before nuzzling Bobby's leg in thanks.

"Okay", Bobby stood and collected his keys, "I'll be back in a few hours. Don't you go chewing up anything in this house, or that'll be it for you". He patted the dog on the head and walked out the front door, double checking the lock as he walked away.

He drove to his fathers house, his old truck knowing the way. It was a long stretch of highway and a few cuts to the left and right. He smiled when he saw the last turn off, a gravel road with a street sign planted firmly in soft earth. _Hwy 311_ and _Ol' Tom Road_. Bobby remembered when the mayor of the small town finally agreed to mark the street with his father's name. He had the only house on the gravel road and thought it only fitting his name grace the sign.

The house itself wasn't much to look at. It was built by Thomas himself, made of drywall, brick, sweat, and tears. It was a one story tan brick building with an aluminum carport cover. The yard was wide open to the empty pastures that surrounded it. A lone pecan tree stood in the middle of the grass, dropping leaves and fallen fruit in the drive.

As he pulled up to the carport Bobby realized the car was gone. He backed up and parked under the pecan tree hoping to find Dean inside and Sam running errands.

When the door didn't give he pulled out a ring of keys and searched till he found the one he needed. He slipped the key into the door and let himself in. "Hello? Dean? Sam, you here?"

No one answered, so Bobby stepped quietly, inspecting the house. It smelled like the country. Like home. He walked from room to room, soft pine floors creaking and snapping. He looked in the two bedrooms in the back, only to find a duffle bag full of guns and Sam's long pants. The morning sun was shinning through drawn curtains, illuminating the room. The second bedroom, which Bobby assumed had been intended for Dean, was dark, and looked as though no one had stayed in it. Bobby could feel a shiver run down his spine, finding the whole scene to be ominous, foretelling of something being amiss.

He left the back of the house and wondered out to the back patio. Nothing had been touched. The old pit hadn't been fired up and the chairs had a collection of fallen leaves holding them down. He didn't like the vibe he was getting. Something was just off. He went back into the house and picked up the faded green phone, dialing Sam's cellphone.

* * *

It had been a little more than an hour since the first phone call to John and there had been several more to follow, always rolling over to voicemail. Dean had fallen back asleep under the effect of the painkillers without anymore discussion of chickens or salt. He had simply requested that Sammy wake him when he got a hold of their father.

Sam was sitting, watching Dean, and thumbing over the keypad on his phone when it started to ring. He glanced down at the caller ID, but didn't recognize the number. He answered it, hoping beyond hope that it was his father, calling to redeem himself.

"Hello?"

"Sam? It's Bobby. Where are you boys?"

Sam closed his eyes for a second and blew out a long breath 'not Dad'. "We're back at the hospital. Have you talked to our Dad?"

"Hospital? What the hell are you doing back there? I busted you boys out a week ago. Is Dean alright?" Bobby was good at this paternal thing. He felt all the responsibility and love a father would have felt for those two.

"No", Sam looked over at Dean, "No, Dean's not alright. He's…well, there's a problem. Where are you?"

"I'm at the house, I came looking to check up on you boys. It's the same hospital ?"

"Yeah, County", Sam confirmed, not giving more than he should.

"Alright, I'm coming up there. But I'm in the rig, so it's gonna take me about two hours".

"You don't have to come Bobby, I've got this". Sam was protesting, hoping that Bobby wouldn't have it and would show up soon anyway.

"Nonsense. You boys need someone around. Family is family. I'll be there real soon, you boys just sit tight".

"Yeah, okay. Room 264".

Bobby, satisfied he'd gotten his point across, hung up the phone.

* * *

Dean heard the conversation and rolled over to face Sam again. "What time is it?"

Sam placed the phone on the table and looked at his watch, "Uh, quarter till ten. You doing alright over there?"

"Yeah", Dean did the math in his head. Five hours to go. "Couldn't find Dad?"

"No, it was Bobby. He's on his way up here. I mean, I can stop him if you don't want him here", Sam started rambling.

"No, it's alright. Bobby's a good guy, I don't mind having him around", Dean rubbed his chest, "Damn. Whatever they've been giving me is a bitch. Would you go and get me something to drink?"

"Yeah, I'll be right back". Sam disappeared for a few minutes and came back with a pink cup and a spoon.

Dean cocked an eyebrow, "What's that?"

"Ice chips. They said you can't have anything to eat or drink till after the surgery, so don't go crazy". He handed Dean the cup and snickered a little, "Oh, and the nurse is coming. You're gonna love this".

"What?" Dean asked chuckling out of nervousness.

"Just wait. It won't hurt…I promise". Sam kept laughing. It shouldn't have been funny, but it was.

Dean munched quietly on the ice chips, watching Sam and trying to figure out what the kid thought was so funny.

A few minutes later a familiar face came through the door with a shaving kit and small bath bucket.

"Tina", Dean spoke up.

"Good morning Dean! You seem better than yesterday", she laid the things she had brought with her on the table in front of Dean, glancing back at him and waiting for a response.

"Well, I've been better, but…so umm…what cha got there?" His voice was wavering…now he knew why Sam thought this would be funny.

"I'm gonna go ahead and get you cleaned up and ready for surgery", she said with a smile, noticing Sam's laughter coming from the corner of the room.

"This isn't going to be a sponge bath is it?" He tried for one of his chick-melting grins but just couldn't manage it.

"No, sorry", she reached over and ran a hand across his scalp. "I'm just going to buzz off your hair from here to here and shave it clean. This is where the incision will be".

"So you're going to shave half of my head?" he asked incredulously.

"No more than necessary".

"Yeah, and I'm going to look like side show Bob. Can we just go ahead and shave the whole thing?" He asked, trying not to think about the fact that in a matter of minutes he'd be completely bald, and he wasn't sure what shape his head actually was.

"If that's what you want, sure". She smiled and held the shaver up so he could see it. "You want to come over here and sit in this chair for me?"

Dean got up and shuffled to the empty chair, then took off his shirt.

Tina got right to work. She started at the back and quickly moved to the front, buzzing off Dean's short hair. The buzzing of the machine made Dean's head pound. Sam laughed as he watched as his brothers hair fell to the floor, but stopped and held firmly to Dean's shoulder when he saw the pain on his face. Dean closed his eyes and hummed a tune, trying to distract himself from the pain.

When the buzzing stopped Tina asked if he was alright. All he did was nod. "Do you want me to finish, or do you want to lay down for awhile?"

"No, finish. I'll lay down when it's done", and he leaned towards Sam, trying to soak up the strength Sammy wanted to give.

Tina worked quickly, applying some kind of foamy lotion to Deans nearly hairless scalp, and shaving it off meticulously. When she was done she wiped his head with a wet, warm towel. She leaned over and smiled at him. "You don't look bad. A lot of people have weird shaped heads, ya know? Pointy on the top or something. Yours is actually perfectly symmetrical".

"Thanks", Dean smiled as best he could.

She packed up the things she had brought in with her and left the brothers alone with Dean's new haircut.

Dean pulled his shirt back over his head and leaned back in the chair. Sam chuckled a little again and reached over and rubbed Dean's bald head.

"Hey!" He pushed Sam's hand away. "What are you doing?"

"Rubbing your head for good luck". Sam smiled at the idea of Dean being his good luck charm.

Everything stopped for a moment. No one moved no, no one breathed. Then their eyes met and both boys started to laugh.

Dean ran a hand over his head. "Well, that's a new feeling".

Sam's was still catching his breath, "Yeah, I bet".

"Sit down Sammy. We need to talk before Bobby gets here", Dean was serious now.

"Come on", Sam pulled at Dean's arm, "Let's get you back in the bed first".

Dean let Sam help him back into the bed, steeling himself for what he needed to say to his brother. He leaned forward and Sam pulled the pillows up so Dean could rest more comfortably. Dean swatted him away and told him to sit down, which he did.

"Now listen Sammy. I want to tell you a few things". Dean looked him in the eye and steadied his voice.

"Don't Dean. We don't need to do this. Doc said you're going to be fine", Sam fought his brother, he didn't want to hear any of this, he didn't want to think about Dean's mortality. He didn't want to think about the possibility of some day living without Dean.

"No Sammy. Just let me do this, okay?"

"Okay", Sam said softly, giving Dean his full attention.

"Now, I want you to remember, no matter what happens, none of this is your fault. I know you think it is, but it's not. It's no one's fault but that yellow eyed bastard". He stopped speaking and gave it a second to sink in. He wanted Sam to hear it and really believe it for a change.

"Everything I have done over the years has been my choice. I chose to follow Dad and live my life on back roads and in cheap motels and shady bars. I had normal and it got taken away…I didn't chose to give it up. I did however choose to not give this up. Now, whatever happens, I want you to make a choice. I want you to decide where you want this life to take you. You don't have to keep hunting, I can see what it does to you. I want you to choose the life that means the most to you. And if I don't come out of this normal, you walk away, you hear me? I don't want to see you wasting your life taking care of an invalid".

Dean held himself steady. He had to tell Sam the important stuff. The stuff that he never said. The stuff his brother needed to hear just in case he never heard it from anyone else. He was trying to maintain eye contact with Sam, but it was so hard to talk about this and hold it together.

"If something goes wrong, and I know the doc says I'll be fine, but if something goes wrong, I want you to pull the plug, okay? I don't want to be kept alive if I don't get to live. I love you, Sammy. So if I don't make it, I don't want you to be sad. I want you to move on with whatever life you choose and be happy. And be patient with Dad. He loves us, and he tries, he's just not good at showing it. That's why he's not here, ya know? Cause he doesn't know how to be".

Dean stopped. His breath was hitching and he could feel his cheeks and his ears burning red. He looked at Sam. His nose was dripping and his head was shaking, tossing thick brown hair, left and right.

"Tell me Dean", he started softly sniffling and holding his tears in, "when did you become such a girl?"

They both laughed, releasing tension that had grown in the few moments it took for Dean to make his speech.

"Ahh Sammy, I learned from the best. In fact, I should probably ask the nurse to find us some emo tunes to mark the moment", Dean joked, feeling the pressure in his head ripping at all of his senses.

"Whatever Dude", Sam jerked.

"Oh yeah, and I want you to fix the car and name your first kid after me", he dropped his head back and took deep breaths.

"You want something from the nurse?" Sam asked, standing to move on Dean's word, "It's been like five hours".

"Yeah, just don't trample anyone this time".

Sam came back with Tina in tow. She changed Dean's IV bag and gave him more of the super drugs. It took about ten minutes for Dean to start drifting off. "Sammy", his words ran together as he started to fade away, "calldadagain".

Sam sat in the chair and dialed, pressing the keys harder than he needed to, the device emitting long beeps as each number was mashed down. He listened for the ring, but just got the voicemail again. He hung up and dropped the phone. He'd had enough.

* * *

Dean slept for a few hours while Sam paced, till Bobby came through the door. The aged hunter stared at Dean's bald head for a moment before he looked at Sam. "What the hell happened?"

Sam offered him the chair and told him the whole story. The headaches, the blindness, the swelling, and the surgery. He didn't tell him about Dean's speech or of the fact that he was scared shitless.

"Have you talked to my father?" Sam asked, holding on to hope.

"He called this morning, asked me to look in on you two, then the call got dropped and I couldn't get him back". Bobby held his cards close, omitting the part about Johnny having a job for him. "You look like hell Sam? When's the last time you slept or ate something?"

Sam did the math again. "It's been a while". He knew what was coming next.

"Well, you take yourself down stairs and get some food in ya. I'll sit with Dean while you take a break", Bobby ordered.

Sam read the conviction and devotion on Bobby's face and hesitantly agreed, "Okay, but I won't be gone long, they'll be coming to get him soon". He turned and opened the door, looking at his brother once more, "Tell him I'll be right back if he wakes up".

Somehow, Sam's feet carried him all the way down to the cafeteria where he forced down an awful egg salad sandwich and a cup of coffee. He tried John's phone again and was almost tempted to leave a message when the voicemail picked up, but he didn't. He just slumped down in his seat and took long breaths, trying to rejuvenate himself. He tried not to think about it, but the thought plagued his mind, _Dean thinks he's going to die, or that I could just leave him._

* * *

When Sam got back to the room Dean was awake and chatting quietly with Bobby. Dean liked Bobby a lot. He was a demon hunting, beer drinking, motor head. One day he would be all demon hunter, pulling the right exorcism from dozens and reciting it in perfect Latin. Next day he was a grease monkey under the hood of an old Chevelle, working on the 350ci V8, and talking about how I_f I could just get it up to 200 HP_ and _Chevy should have left it alone, damn thing's only at 175._ Dean loved it. Ate up every word of everything the man said because Bobby's two favorite subjects were Dean's two favorite subjects: demons and engines.

Sam looked at his watch, _2:30_.

"What's the matter, Sammy? Going to be late for your tee time?" Dean chuckled loud and nervous.

"Very funny Mr. Clean", Sam smile in spite of himself, "How you feeling?"

"Like having a little brain surgery" Dean offered.

He and Bobby laughed, but Sam didn't think it was funny.

"Lighten up Kid, it's gonna be fine. Remember, we just take the next step", Dean said softly.

* * *

The next thirty minutes flew by faster than Sam could catch them. And when the nurse came in with a wheelchair Sam wanted to scream out that he had more time left, he just needed another five minutes with regular Dean. _Please._

Dean took it all like a pro. He shook Bobby's hand and thanked him for coming down. _We didn't ask, but I'm glad you're here._

He looked at Sam as he relaxed into the rolling chair. Sam crouched down on eye level with Dean.

"I'll be in the waiting room, and I promise I'll be the first thing you see when you wake up, alright?" Sam's tongue was thick and his throat was slick.

"Hey", Dean wrapped his fingers around Sam's neck and kneaded the muscles a little, gaining Sam's full attention. "You just remember everything we talked about, okay Sammy?"

"Yeah, I'll remember Dean. You just don't go making any trouble in there". Sam smiled and stood up to his full height, trying to convey the image of strength and resolve.

But as Dean was wheeled out of the room, IV in tow, he called back to his brother, "Just hold on Sammy", and Sam lost it, crying soft tears for all he had lost in the past, and for all he stood to lose if this didn't turn out the way he prayed for it to.

**Okay…I'm a bit of a Dean, and I never cry. But I think I almost shed a tear as I finished this chapter. I'd like to say that the last paragraph was a version of when my baby sister (my Sammy – she's younger than me but taller, I raised her and everything) moved away. She literally let her husband drive their U-Haul to the corner than climbed out the window and yelled good byes…and I cried like a girl.**

**My brother had some brain surgeries after a really horrible accident, so a lot of the stuff that I'm putting in here is how things went down with Ben…shaving the head…eating ice chips…all that Jazz. And I'm from South Louisiana…so the thing about storms coming in off the gulf an stopping things is a reality.**

**Hope I don't ramble too much or bore you people!! PLEASE keep reviewing!! You guys rock, always inflating my ego (seriously, my head was so big the other day, it almost didn't fit in the car).**

**Chp 9 should be coming by Monday!!! Sunday if Easter is boring enough!!**


	9. Sam, Dean, and Bob Dylan

**I know I said Monday…forgive me. I tried, I really did, but the website wouldn't let me upload the document. So the chapter is up now and I am hoping you are all still interested. I'm not sure if it's emo enough, but I am trying!! New chapter tomorrow -- got it written, I'm just pacing you guys!**

**So far I am someone's hero, I made at least three people cry (sorry), and I am apparently killing an anonymous reviewer at the end of every chapter! That's all good stuff, right? I just have to say, you guys rock my sox with every review and I can't tell you how much it means when you guys say things like "You have a talent".**

**And Amy G – us Dean chicks have to stick together and always be Dean chicks…it's what makes us rock!!!**

**Keep enjoying and reviewing!! You guys ROCK MY SOX! (Can't say that enough)**

Sam wiped his cheeks and eyes with his sleeve, hoping Bobby had not seen his moment of weakness. But he had, and before Sam could turn around, Bobby placed a firm hand on his shoulder and gave him a little shake.

"Come on", he gestured to the nurse standing in the doorway, "This nice lady is going to take us to the waiting room".

"Yeah, okay", Sam mumbled, barely audible, and let Bobby and Tina take him to the elevators and into a waiting room on the fifth floor. He didn't notice the room or pick a chair, just fell into the first seat he saw.

Tina gave him a pathetic smile. "They're prepping him right now, taking his vitals. Dr. Naylor is going to come and talk to you before they start, so he should be here in just a minute. Just take it easy, okay? He's gonna be just fine".

"Thank You", Bobby offered because Sam was beyond speaking.

* * *

Down the hall Dean was lying in another bed. A technician of some kind had come in and attached all kinds of sticky pads to his chest and taken an EEG, "just making sure you're hearts up to snuff", he told Dean.

Another nurse came in and checked his blood pressure and temperature. She told him he'd have to take off his necklace. Dean looked down and saw the amulet lying against his chest. He reluctantly took it off and handed it to her. "Can you make sure my brother gets it?"

When Naylor finally appeared Dean was nervous and venturing into scared. But he wasn't going to just announce it. He shook Naylor's hand when it was offered and gave a weak grin.

"So you think you're ready for this?" He asked casually, while holding Dean's wrist and noting his rapid heart rate.

"As ready as I'm going to be". The sweat on Dean's brow glistened, the words were forced and fake.

"Cause your heart seems to want to jump out and run down the street", Naylor told him.

"Yeah. I'm a little nervous. I think I've got white coat syndrome. It's not you, I've just never had a good experience with a doctor", and another nervous laugh fell from his lips.

"Well, we're going to get started soon. Someone is going to come in and give you something to relax you before we wheel you down. I'm going to go out and talk to Sam, then I'll meet you in the OR. Sound okay?"

"Whatever you say Doc".

Naylor turned to leave Dean but stopped just short, "By the way, did your Dad make it back?"

Dean looked down and his heart was breaking again. "No, no one can get a hold of him. But my uncle Bobby got in this afternoon".

"Okay. Well you just take it easy and I'm gonna go talk to Sam and your uncle".

"Thanks Doc".

This is how Dean's life seemed to play out. In moments. A moment with Sam, a moment with Bobby, a moment with the doc. His life was a series of moments strung together to create a tragedy. Few of his moments were ever happy ones, and even fewer were worth remembering. The moment he lost his mother, the moment he watched Sam leave him for college, the moment John's eyes flashed with demonic possession. This was just another moment. Preparing to take the next step.

* * *

Sam sat in the waiting room, slowly gathering himself. _For Deans sake_. He had just stood and walked to the window when Naylor presented himself.

"Sam", he beckoned.

"Hi, how's Dean? Is he okay? Where is he?" The habit of nervous movement seemed to have moved from Sam's legs to his lips these days.

Naylor chuckled a little, "You boys don't seem to have a firm grasp on your nerves today", he looked hard at Sam. "Dean's fine. He's just down the hall in pre-op. They're giving him something to relax him, then we're going to get started".

Bobby joined the group and listened intently.

"You must be the uncle", Naylor put out a hand.

"Yeah, Bobby Singer. And you are?" Bobby shook the mans hand firmly, measuring him up just as Dean had.

"I'm sorry. I'm Joseph Naylor, Dean's neurologist. I'm going to be doing the procedure today". He let go of Bobby's hand and tried to ease the man, "Did you have any questions about the procedure or anything at all?"

"Four hours, right?" Sam chimed in.

"Yes, four hours give or take. Some one will come by after we get started and let you know how things are progressing. And I'll come and talk to you when they bring him to recovery".

Naylor reached into his coat pocket and produced Dean's necklace. "Dean wanted us to make sure you got this".

Sam opened his palm and let the charm fall into his hand. He squeezed it tight and just stared at his closed fist.

Bobby gave an obligatory "thank you", and Naylor walked out of the room and down the hall through double doors.

Sam's head swam and he had to sit down. He leaned forward and put his head between his knees._ It's really happening now._

* * *

A tiny nurse pushed the bed Dean was in down a long white hall and into a small operating room filled with other nurses and the anesthesiologist. They were all chattering and carrying on like all of this was as normal as rain falling.

It didn't really bother Dean, though. In fact, since that shot they gave him in pre-op, nothing really bothered Dean.

Someone asked him to scoot from the gurney onto the table and he did. Someone asked him how he was feeling and he heard himself respond "peachy". The anesthesiologist introduced himself as Dr. Torreau and Dean listened as he explained the breathing tube and heart monitor. _Okay…please do keep me breathing and my heart pumping_. Someone laid warm blankets over Dean and he calmed a little more, if that was possible. Torreau said something about giving him the good stuff and Dean feeling like sleeping. Then he asked Dean to count back from fifty as he put an oxygen mask over the young man's face. Dean's chest felt a little heavy as he started at fifty. _forty-nine, forty-eight, forty-._ Dean gave up and let himself fall into the abyss.

* * *

_Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out._ Sam followed the instructions his brain was giving him. He wasn't functioning anymore, he was just there. He was lost somewhere, time passing unwatched.

Aside from Bobby, there was no one else in the room. He sat right next to Sam, running his fingers through the hair on his chin. He smelled like motor oil and incense and Sam could hear the man's breaths coming across his lips with the faintest sound.

"Hey", Bobby snapped a finger in front of the boy, looking for a sign that Sam was in there somewhere.

Sam's eyes rose from the floor trying to focus on his mentor, but instead found a spot on Bobby's hat to settle on. "Huh?"

"Nurse is ready to talk to you." Bobby pointed to a petite, very innocent looking woman in blue scrubs who scared the crap out of Sam.

"How long has it been?" Sam asked distracted.

"Two and a half hours". Simple answer.

Sam didn't respond, just got up and walked over to the terrifying messenger in the doorway. He stopped at a safe distance and shoved his hands deep into his pockets, looking to the woman with desperate eyes.

"How is he?"

"Your brother is doing fine. There were a lot of adhesions on his skull, probably from previous injuries, and the doctor used a laser to burn away dead tissue. But other than that everything has gone very well". She smiled and Sam felt part of himself melt. "Everything is moving along quickly and Dr. Naylor should be done very soon. When we finish they'll move your brother to recovery and Dr. Naylor will come and talk to you".

"And then I'll be able to see him, right? Before he wakes up? I mean…I told him I'd be the first one he'd see". Sam didn't want to beg or sound like he was pleading with the woman, but he needed to make sure she understood.

"Of course. We'll make sure of it. Now relax, it won't be long". She offered him a calming smile and left him to process the information.

Bobby appeared at Sam's side and laid a hand on the boys back. "Everything okay?"

Sam turned to the man, "Yeah, he's okay, they're almost done. She said he's okay". Sam felt a weight lifted, his muscles relaxed, and he realized he was smiling.

Bobby was smiling too…both of his boys were out of the woods.

"What?" Sam asked taken off guard by the hunters joy.

"Nothing", he mused, "it's just that this is the most relaxed I've seen you in…well, in years. At least since you were thirteen".

Sam nodded in agreement as he felt his face flush with emotion. Bobby could feel himself going through the same change and felt the need to excuse himself. "I'm gonna go grab us a couple of sodas down the hall. I'll be right back", and he walked away quickly, silently thanking the powers that be for the mercy shown to his family.

Sam started examining the room. He felt as though he should memorize every detail so he would be able to remember this day clearly. The day Dean had surgery and came back to him whole again.

The lights were dim, the late afternoon sun filtering through the plastic blinds and laying stripes on the solid carpet. The chairs were all maroon with black aluminum arms and legs. There were plastic hanging plants and fichus trees placed strategically about the room. There was a TV in the far corner quietly broadcasting CNN. And enclosed in the other corner, a white phone hung on the wall with a chair placed directly below it. Some people had to be seated to be given the bad news coming from the OR.

He sat down near the window, not far from the TV and let the droning of political analysts and war correspondents drag him from the black hole he had been wallowing in. He stared at the weathered man on the screen clad in a vest of Kevlar with a microphone held close to his chest, and the reality of things hit Sam. _Life is still going on. People are carrying on. And Dean and I will too._

* * *

Minutes ticked by on the clock. Bobby had returned with two cans of coke, which Sam drained quickly. He watched more TV. He paced the room. He sat in four different chairs. He flipped through a worn copy of 'Field and Stream'. He watched Bobby watching him. He thought about his father and all he had missed out on with his children because he chose to be a hunter first.

Then Naylor appeared in the doorway like some kind of apparition. Like a reaper, this man held the power of life and death. And while Sam knew Dean had been okay, the sight of the man brought the fear and weight back down on him like a hard rain.

Sam stood with Bobby quickly at his side. The doctor came to him, aware of how far the short distance between them would be for someone in Sam's position. He didn't even give Sam the chance to ask.

"He's fine."

Sam stopped reminding himself to breathe.

"We found adhesions built up on his skull, and I'm assuming those were caused by previous head injuries, and we had to use a laser to remove some dead tissue. But once we got past that, it was all routine. I put in the stint and made sure everything was in order before we closed up". He smiled at Sam and slapped him on the back, "If we can get you back there, nurse said you should be the first person he sees when he wakes up".

Sam turned to Bobby and met his eyes this time. It was a silent agreement that Sam would go alone. This was a time for brothers.

* * *

Naylor and Sam moved down a short hall lined with small cubicles. It was relatively quiet, machines beeping, ventilators humming, families chatting, one poor soul was crying. They stopped in front of a door with Dean's name written across a large metallic file hanging on the door. Sam reached for the handle, but Naylor stopped him.

"Before you go in there. He has got to remain sitting up and there are some machines monitoring him", Naylor paused for dramatic effect, "He doesn't look good, but I assure you he's no longer in trouble. Just be prepared."

Sam swallowed the information and gave the man some of the gratitude he felt consuming him. "Thank You. I know it's your job and all, but you have no idea what your help has meant to either of us".

"Like you said, just doing my job." And Naylor walked away, leaving Sam to face what was behind the door.

* * *

It had been more than four hours since Sam's eyes had looked over Dean. An eternity it seemed. And now here he was, being told to be prepared. _Doesn't matter, he's okay now._ So Sam pulled the door open and walked in. And yeah, okay, he was caught a little off guard by what he saw.

Dean was sitting up with his head wrapped and taped, tubes were hanging out of the mass of cotton on his head. Sam got closer, realizing Dean was still out. He had an oxygen mask over his face and all kinds of machines and wires were connected to his body, beeping to let anyone in ear shot know he was still alive. His face was swollen larger than Sam had ever seen it before. His nose looked smaller and his eyes were puffy and tight. Sam wanted to touch him, but then thought it might not be a good idea, so for the moment he just stood over Dean, listening to the music the machines made and watching his brother live.

A nurse came through the door and startled Sam. "Did you talk to him yet?" she asked.

"No, no. He's still asleep". Sam sat down and scrubbed his face with his hands. "I didn't know he was going to look like this".

She checked the blood pressure monitor and made a not on his chart about the fluid level in his IV. "The swelling in his face is from the procedure. It'll go down in a day or two". She looked at Sam's hand resting on the side of the bed. "You can touch him if you need to. You won't hurt him". She smiled and closed the file, "He should be coming around soon, so go ahead and talk to him". She left the room, telling him to call the desk if he needed anything.

When Sam was alone with Dean again, he thought about holding his brothers hand, but he got a mental image of Dean waking up to find Sam knee deep in an emotional stupor. And he knows how Dean would react. _Such a girl Sammy_ and _Dude get off of me_. So he just talks, telling his brother mundane things that define who they are.

"Why do I feel like I'm always here? Watching you. Waiting". Sam took a deep breath and let it escape past thin lips. "You listening Dean? Doc said everything turned out fine. All you have to do now is wake up and we can get on with getting on", He looks around the room and tries to decide what he should be telling Dean, but nothing profound or insightful comes to mind, so he just rambles. "Bobby brought me a coke and I drank mine and his. Guess I was thirsty. Oh, and I finally got to watch CNN in peace. It was a little boring, guess it's better with your play-by-play." The quiet was a little unnerving as Sam tried to think of more things to tell his brother. "You should see yourself Dude. Not picking up any chicks with that head gear", Sam scoffed.

Dean's eyes opened as much as they could and he let out three soft whimpers, his body going rigid. "Sssaaamy", he slurred.

Sam grabbed Dean's arm and squeezed it tight. "Hey Dean. Hey, just take it easy, huh?" Sam pressed the button on the side of the bed and waited for help.

"How do you feel?" He asked realizing what a stupid question it was after it was out there.

Dean's breath fogged the mask that was covering his mouth as he spoke. "Shit", he pushed out. "Everything…it's okay?"

"Yeah", Sam couldn't help smiling, "Yeah, you did good. Everything is gonna be fine, you just gotta rest and heal up".

"Sam", and he closed his eyes. "Resting", he mumbled.

The nurse came back and went right to work.

"He woke up", Sam informed her.

"Good, it was getting to be time for him to come out of it", she rubbed a hand on Dean's chest and spoke to him, "Dean? Dean you hear me darlin'?"

Dean opened his eyes again. "Yes".

"Okay. I assume you know where you are?" He nodded in confirmation. "Well, I want you to try and stay awake for a little while. We're going to give you something for pain, but you have to be aware before we can do that, so you just talk to your brother here for a while, okay?"

"Have to talktoSam?" Words ran together. "Cause muchcuter". He tried to smile and form full sentences.

"I can go back and watch more CNN ya know?" Sam turned a thumb at the door.

"No", a limp hand grabbed Sam's arm and Dean looked at him with glazed eyes. "Stay".

Sam looked at Dean, feeling ashamed he had placed the idea in Dean's head that he would actually leave him. "I was kidding Dean. I'm not going anywhere".

"'Kay." Dean relaxed a little more.

The nurse watched the brothers as she left the room, finding their way with each other oddly endearing.

Dean's words were coming back to him and he was immediately concerned with his outward appearance. "Look…that bad?"

"Well, it's not pretty", Sam told him honestly.

Dean tried not to move too much. It hurt and he could hear himself whimper when he moved, though he had no control over it. The light in the room was so bright and he wanted to move his head away, turn from the offense, but he couldn't. So he tried to breathe evenly and concentrate on Sam.

"Lights", he mumbled.

Sam stood up and turned off the light over Dean and sat back down.

"There you go", Sam soothed.

He just looked at Dean, feeling his stomach churn at the sight of the greatest man he had ever known reduced to a whimpering heap.

"How bad is it, Dean? Scale of one to ten? And don't hold back on me, I can take it".

"Nine", Dean rasped. "Cinder block. My head".

Sam chuckled. "No, your precious car's metal doorframe to the head. But the Doc's got you all fixed up now. You kinda look like a mummy, actually".

"Find Dad?" Dean was so tired and everything seemed to hurt. It had nothing to do with anything, but even the hair on his legs hurt. And his heart hurt…he was hoping to find two Winchesters when he woke up.

Sam looked down as though making sure the floor was still there. "No, we can't find him. He's not answering his phone and…just don't worry about it Dean. You're okay now and we'll find him soon. I promise."

It was an uncomfortable moment. Dean was silent out of necessity and Sam was quiet because every time Dean spoke there was pain written across his face, and Sammy was afraid of the questions and answers that came strained from Dean's swollen lips.

But Sam wanted to know and that instinct Naylor had talked to him about told him that Dean wanted to tell him.

"So…when you open your eyes. What do you see?" Sam strained.

"Worried girl", Dean joked.

Sam got it…he was worried, he was a girl. _ha, ha_

"Very funny. I mean, how do things look? Is it any better?" _Don't answer. Don't answer. Fall sleep. Ignore me. I don't want to know. I can't do this._

"Blurry. Black. Hurts"

"Well", Sam pulled up his big girl panties and got on with it, "Doc said you'd have to wait till your head…well…drained. Once the pressure is gone, things will get better".

"'Kay", Dean murmured. "Talk to me".

Sam settled back in his chair and started talking about Dean's favorite cohort. The impala.

"So I was thinking. When we get to working on the car we should upgrade to a CD player", he suggested, pushing Dean to converse with him.

"Radio works". Dean painfully pulled the mask down and the sound of rushing air hissed out. "Don't touch…baby".

Sam smiled and kept talking, pulling the mask back over Dean's face. He kept talking. About the car, about hunting, about anything that would compel Dean to speak. The hour flew by and to Sam's relief, the nurse finally came in and gave Dean what he needed for the pain.

Dean laid there, propped up, eyes closed, breathing shallow. Sam thought back to all the times Dean had been there to comfort him as a child, and in response, took a page from Dean's book. He started to hum an old Bob Dylan tune softly and Dean settled a little and started to slip away again.

**Okay…so the next chapter is already up behind this one. I couldn't seem to make this one chick-flicky enough. Sorry. But wait…John is back in the next chapter and Dean…well…poor Dean. And don't worry…no, I'm not going to kill him**

**Thanx for being patient with me (not that I was patient…wanted to scream at the computer!) Hope ya'll still dig the story!!**


	10. Of Hunters and the Hunted

**Another chapter...I know you're all excited. This is a John centric chapter for all you Daddy junkies. Enjoy and leave me reviews...they make me so happy!! Again, sorry this took so long coming!!**

Every hunter has their specialty, their niche, their forte. It could be used to their benefit or in the wrong circumstance it could contribute to their downfall. A hunter guards his gift, plays his cards close to the vest, doesn't show his hand. But here in this space, among these men, all bets were off and every truth was known.

John was vengeful. Nothing more, nothing less. It was his reason to get up in the morning and his reason to kill every paranormal entity that made the mistake of crossing his path. It fueled his fire and drove him harder everyday. It defined who he was and told the tale of where he had been for the last twenty –two years. He used Mary's death and his sons' scrape to force him out of whatever bed he found himself in. He angered others but didn't care. He was on a Winchester on a mission.

Bobby was a demonic expert. Sure, he knew about other supernatural beings, but demons were his meat and potatoes. He could bind them, trap them, exorcise them. Whatever needed doing. He'd seen more demons in his lifetime than good people. And yeah, he played mechanic and junkyard man, too. His house was full of books that told you how to get rid of a demon or replace a bad water pump on a Chevy. He kept to himself. He never married, dressed like a man who didn't hold the knowledge he did, drank cheap beer, drove too slow, and was fiercely protective of those he counted as family.

Hoodoo and Voodoo were Jefferson's specialty, but like Bobby he never limited himself. He met the sprit of Marie Laveau early one morning in the Café Du Monde…told her where she could find good gris-gris then told her to get out of town. His home was a testament to his work. He had a room on the second floor that he kept locked…no one had ever been inside. It was full of potions and charms and yeah, Voodoo dolls. He could set a curse, lift a binding, or just fuck with your head. But he never plied his trade in New Orleans. Too many tourists willing to do something stupid…the locals were smarter than that.

Dwight Gregg left the priesthood nineteen years ago. He and the Catholic Church just didn't see eye to eye on things. He wanted to rid the world of evil and they wanted him to speak three times on Sunday and arrange the occasional Parish picnic. So he took off the roman collar and bought an old truck. He reinvented himself and became one of the best hunters around. Quiet was his thing. He kept to himself, never spoke unless he was spoken to, and hid his secrets very well. He hated firearms, therefore didn't carry any. His weapons of choice were Latin, salt, and time.

And then there was Joshua. He was the Radar O'Reiley of the group. He was your go to man. He had every type, brand, and style of ammunition or weapon you needed. He'd never tell, but he had an old grenade launcher in his woodshed. He had a sixth sense and could tell you something or someone was coming before they got there. He wasn't clairvoyant, but he had a hand on the phone before it rang, and beers on the table before company came to the door.

* * *

It was almost one o'clock and the phones were still down. Dwight had appeared on Jefferson's doorstep only twenty minutes ago and was already getting impatient, wanting to know what the story was and how he could be of service. Time was of the essence in Dwight's mind. Too much time spent sitting on your ass was like putting the gun to your head yourself, he thought.

"Well, if he doesn't get here soon it's his problem". Jefferson put a heavy pot on the table in front of the men. Bowls had been placed in front of them and beers were cold and waiting.

John peered over the top of the pot and stared at the contents. "What is that, and do you really expect us to eat it?"

"I don't expect you to do anything but cause trouble and be a pain in the ass Winchester", his words bit. "It's chicken picayune. So shut up and eat it or drive the two hours to find a hamburger".

John just started heaping it into his bowl and ignoring Jefferson's mumblings as he walked away, "My momma's recipe. You'd think he'd appreciate good food. Te ponce _crazy_. See if I feed that bastard again".

John was shaking his head at Jefferson and mumbling "coonass" when he smelled it. Hi-Karate wafted into the house, riding the rain. It was Joshua.

John stood and walked to the front door just in time to find the man running up the front porch, drenched in the cold February rain.

"Damn. I gotta tell ya Josh. You may be able to tell when something's coming, but everyone knows when you're coming. What, do you bathe in the Hi-Karate these days or did you just fall in the bottle?" John slapped him on the back and ushered him into the house. He pointed through the house but Joshua cut him off.

"Kitchen…I know".

* * *

The rain continued to pelt the south side of the house as the men sat at the hunter's roundtable. After returning to the table with Joshua in tow, John couldn't eat. Something was pulling his strings and he had no idea what it was. The tiny hairs on the back of his neck had stood up and his knee was bobbing, keeping time. He sipped his beer, but he just couldn't eat. This wasn't nerves. He had never been so ready to do anything in his entire life. No, this was something he didn't know.

"Okay", Jefferson slapped a map down on the table and threw a pile of papers on top of it. "Winchester has been tracking this thing for years and now we know where it is". He laid a finger over the red circle on the map.

"We talking about the big bad I think we're talking about?" Joshua asked hesitantly.

"Yeah". John rubbed the rough stubble on his chin.

"And how do we know it's going to be there? I mean, I trust your tracking skills John, but that's a hell of a trip to make on an assumption". Dwight was not sure of any of this.

"This demon goes after children on their six month birthday, always following signs. Three times it's come for someone that I have been able to track. Every time it came it was preceded by electrical storms, temperature fluctuations, and cattle deaths". John leaned over the table and laid a hand on map. "And all of these things are happening here".

The men exchanged looks. Either John was crazy or they were. He was a loose canon, everyone knew that, and they were all willing to follow him into the bowels of hell at this point.

"So what about this kid you think it's coming for?" Jefferson pressed.

"One kid was born in the right time frame. It's a small town, no local hospital. So I checked the birth announcements and I found the name…Matthew Oakston. He'll be six months old in five days". John laid it all out for the men in front of him, hoping against all hope that they would comply and help him, despite the transgressions each could hold against him.

"Alright", Jefferson looked around the table, meeting each man's eyes, "I'm in. You boys want to help or you gonna turn tail?"

One by one the hunters nodded in agreement and assumed the task of saving a boy in Sommerset, Texas.

* * *

Holy water, rosaries, amulets, crucifixes, shotguns, salt, the colt. John jammed them all into a bag and picked up his cellphone again. He stood on the back porch and held the phone up in the air, hoping it would catch a signal so he could try Bobby or the boys. But he got nothing. Only the pit grinding in his gut telling him that something was wrong.

"Saddle up boys", Jefferson bellowed from the kitchen.

Then they were all on the front porch, exchanging route plans and who did what first. Then four hunters piled into three trucks and an old car and headed west. Headed for John's redemption.

* * *

Sommerset, Texas was a small town outside of San Antonio. It had exactly twelve streets, all marked by a number. Matthew Oakston lived on Eighth Street with his mother Aileen and his father Tate. Aileen was a school teacher and Tate drove a cab in San Antonio. He was the first child born to the young couple. Aileen was twenty-one and Tate was pushing twenty-three. It was a quiet life the Oakston's led…church on Sunday's, pizza on Friday's, and quiet afternoons filled with ice tea and playing in the yard.

"Whew! I think you want to go hang out with momma, Mattie". Tate made a face and held his son away from his body and toward his wife who was breezing through the kitchen.

"What?" Aileen asked.

"He has a present for you", Tate urged her to take their son.

"No, no, no, no", she waved her hands in protest, "Finder's keepers".

Tate gave her pleading eyes, but just couldn't win. He pulled his son to his chest and rose slowly from his chair, rubbing the babies back and yawning.

"You still not sleeping?" Aileen asked.

"No", Tate remarked. "I keep having those bizarre dreams. Same guy talking to me about power and plans. It's creepy." He kissed his son's head, "almost as creepy as the idea of being responsible for another human life".

Aileen took the baby from her husband's hands and conceded. "You go on, lay down and take a nap. I'll change Mattie here and we'll leave so you can have some peace. I need you driving tonite…military pays this week and I know those soldiers will be out there looking to spend money and catch a ride."

Tate kissed her softly on the lips, "Yeah, and you could use that money, huh?"

"Only if you want to feed our son".

"Okay. You leave, I nap…I guess it works". He smiled and turned from his family, headed for his bed. Just a quick nap. But it wasn't.

* * *

Tate woke up in a cold sweat, breathing hard. The dream had come back to him. Same weird guy in the jacket with the popped collar. Same mumblings of power and plans and submission. But this time was different. This time the guy told him it was almost time, that he was coming.

Tate knew it was just a dream, but he couldn't shake the chill that ran up and down his spine. It was just so…ominous.

* * *

John pushed the gas pedal down and his truck picked up speed. _87 mph_. Jefferson was in front of him and Joshua and Dwight were bringing up the rear. He looked down at his watch and saw the hours passed by quickly._ 5:00pm._ He felt the knots in his stomach slowly recoil and he was sure he would be able to reach his family soon. Next stop…he wouldn't risk driving and talking…Jefferson drove like a mad man and Joshua was on his ass…too dangerous.

So when the men pulled into the diner on the outskirts of town, John flipped open his phone and speed dialed Sam's line. He got a busy signal. It was nearly nine o'clock and he still had no idea what his family was going through without him. He hung up and tried again. Busy signal.

Somewhere far away, in a cold hospital room, Sam Winchester sat next to his brother and dialed his father over and over again. Always blocking his fathers call, never allowing himself to reach him.

**Okay...what did we think? I hope everyone liked it...and don't worry Dean is all the next chapter is about, so if you didn't get your fix here...mosey on over to chapter eleven!!**

**And leave me reviews please...they fuel my ego and my muse!! You guys rock!!!**

**BTW...i hope none of the readers or writers were directly affected by what happened at Virginia Tech. I know we are all shocked and I hope that they can count on all of your thoughts and prayers as well as my own!**


	11. Rome Wasn't Built In A Day

**Yeah!! Another chapter…don't you love how prolific I am? So, Dean's not dead, but we are going to torture him, per many reader requests! Enjoy and leave me reviews…and peach pie and chocolate cupcakes and things like that!!**

Sam spent twenty minutes frantically dialing and re-dialing. Barely a moment between unanswered phone calls. He just kept getting a busy signal, never actually rolling over to his fathers voice mail. John was dialing as his son did, blocking the call from getting through. They were both reaching for each other over hundreds of miles, needing an answer. Any answer.

Hours went by like minutes and before Sam knew it Dean was moved to his own room in the ICU, where Bobby finally found the boys.

It was close to midnight and Sam was glued to a chair next to Dean's bed when Bobby walked into the small room. Dean looked the same as he had when Sam found him in recovery and the sight took Bobby by surprise.

"Wow", Bobby's jaw went slack. "How is he doing?"

Sam stood and gestured to his brother. "Doc says he's doing fine. He came to after the surgery and they gave him something for pain. Since then he's been out of it".

"And you?" Sam looked like he hadn't slept in days and it had been just as long since he'd seen a razor.

"I'm okay. I'll get a little sleep and grab a shower in the morning", Sam looked to Bobby who seemed to be uncomfortable with situation.

"Alright. Well, I'm gonna go on back to the yard if there's nothing else you need".

"Actually", not wanting to further impose, "could you bring my duffle when you come back?" Sam asked.

Bobby clapped him on the back and smiled. "No problem kid. I'll be back tomorrow. You sleep". And then Bobby was gone and Sam and Dean were alone. Well…Sam was alone.

He settled into his chair and did his best to try and sleep, but there was so much noise, so much going on around him, so many people suffering. The noise closest to him was Deans heart monitor. A slow constant beep that meant Dean was alive. There was the hum of the oxygen that was flowing into Dean's lungs through a thin clear tube in his nostrils that ran back and was tucked behind his ears. And there was the sound of people all around him. He could hear soft crying in the hall way and someone crying out in pain in the room next door. But Sam blocked it out and fell asleep, one hand on Dean's bed.

* * *

When Sam woke up the first thing he noticed was a blanket draped over him. He pulled it up to his chin and felt a strain in his back. _Right…sleeping in a chair_. His eyes shot up to the clock on the wall. _8:26am_.

To his surprise, when he looked over, Dean was awake. Completely silent and very still, but awake.

"Hey, how you doing?" he asked.

"Bedder dan yesday", Dean mumbled.

"How long have you been up?" his voice soft.

"Na long. Hour". Dean's words were slurred and strained.

"And you let me sleep, huh? Sounds about right". Sam got up and put the blanket on the chair then looked down at it. "And you got someone to bring me a blanket".

Dean smiled. The answer was in the smile. A big brothers smile.

"Alright…well. They feed you yet?" Sam questioned.

"Nngghh". The sound was the only response Dean had.

"Okay, I'll see when they are going to take care of that", and Sam headed for the door but got stopped by a rather tiny woman in a white coat.

"Oh, I'm sorry", he fumbled around her trying to get out of the way.

"No, no problem", she extended her hand, "I'm Wednesday. I am an occupational therapist here". She turned and faced Dean flashing him a practiced clinical smile, "I'm just coming by to check on Dean and see how his function and motor skills are since the surgery".

"Oh, okay". Function and motor skills had never come to mind when Sam thought about the surgery.

She walked across the room and stood next to Dean. She took a small rubber ball out of her pocket and held it out.

"Okay Dean, I'm gonna drop the ball and I want you to catch it with your left hand".

She raised the ball and let go. Instantly, Dean's left hand turned palm up and caught the ball.

"Good", she took the ball out of his hand and smiled at him. "Now when I let go again, I want you to grab it with your right hand".

She lifted the ball once more and let go. Dean's arm twitched and the ball fell to the blankets.

Dean's breath hitched. Why the hell didn't he catch the ball? He steeled his nerves as best he could and looked at the woman then at Sam with pitiful eyes.

"It's okay. Let's just try it again." She held the ball up again and Dean watched it carefully. He let his right eyelid drop closed and focused on the ball. Wednesday let go of the ball and he tried. He pushed his arm but nothing happened. The ball fell back to the bed and Dean tried not to lose what little composure he had.

"What's going on? Why didn't he catch the ball?" Sam's question was directed at the therapist and not Dean.

"Well, I don't know", she was clearly hiding a truth she was certain of. "Let's try a few other things. Dean, can you smile for me?"

Dean thought it was ludicrous. What in the name of all things paranormal did he have to smile for? But he did it anyway. He took a moment and thought of eating M&M's with coffee while sitting in the front seat of the impala. He felt the smile cross his lips and looked over at Sam with wide eyes.

Sam wasn't smiling, though. His eyes shot to Wednesday who wasn't smiling either. From their prospective Dean's smile was one sided.

"It's okay", Wednesday consoled. "I want you to repeat something for me Dean. Can you say 'it's sunny outside' for me?"

Dean knew something was wrong, that things weren't going as anyone had hoped they would. So he concentrated and pushed the words out, enunciating the best he could. "iths sun ye ow si". He heard the dribble coming out of his mouth and couldn't understand what he had said.

"Okay, we're almost done. I need you to open your mouth and stick out your tongue", she directed.

Dean opened his mouth and put his tongue out. It felt thick and what he didn't see or feel was that it was crooked.

Wednesday reached out and pulled the blankets back and gripped his right leg and foot. "Last thing. I want you to push against my hand, okay? Don't let me push your leg back".

To Dean's surprise he couldn't make his leg move. He gritted his teeth and pushed but nothing happened. He couldn't believe it. He wanted to cry and scream that this was not what he had signed up for, but all he had the strength to do was close his eyes and hold the tears in.

Wednesday replaced the blanket and laid a soft hand o n Dean's chest. "It's alright. We know what we're dealing with now and we can take care of it, okay? You just relax."

She turned to Sam and motioned him to follow her out of the room. When they were standing in the hall Sam attacked.

"What the hell is going on? He came in because he had headaches and now he can't move. What did you people do?" He was furious and frightened and couldn't hold back.

"Mr. McGuilicuty please stay calm. This is not unexpected. It's like a stroke. It happens sometimes when there are complications in procedures such as your brothers. I'll talk to Dr. Naylor and we'll decide on the best course of action." She looked at Sam and tried to be as reassuring as possible. "You just need to relax and stay calm for your brother".

Sam could do nothing but nod, knowing that right now Dean needed someone to have a level head. "Okay". He didn't thank the woman or ask questions, just returned to Dean.

* * *

"I'm half blind and now I can't talk or walk. What the hell have I gotten myself into?" Dean kept asking himself. He wanted to cry, but didn't want Sam to see him break. He closed his eyes and squeezed them tight, waiting for the next blow.

Sam reappeared and Dean waited to feel him next to the bed before he opened his eyes.

"Don't worry Dean", he muttered, "She said this isn't a big deal, just part of recovery". He was lying. Why he didn't know…maybe for him and maybe for Dean.

A woman slipped into the room with a tray and placed it on the table before quietly walking out.

"Ah ha. Breakfast. I know you've got to be hungry", Sam cajoled. He pushed the rolling table in front of Dean and took the top off of the plate. _Cream of wheat, jello, milk, and juice. _"Soft diet…got to love hospital food".

Dean sighed and picked up a spoon with his left hand. He dropped it in the cream of wheat and gave it a stir. He was right handed and in no way ambidextrous, so it was a chore. He got two spoonfuls up to his mouth before huffing and dropping the utensil on the tray. He reached for the small carton of milk and tried to open it, but he just couldn't.

Sam saw the distress and took the milk from his brother and quickly opened it and set it back on the tray. Dean glared for a moment then picked it up and lifted it to his mouth. The milk ran down his chin and onto his shirt. He slammed the carton down and closed his eyes.

"Hey, it's okay", Sam put a hand on his shoulder then reached for something on the tray, "We'll just put a straw in it".

He put a straw in the milk and Dean tried again. He tested it and when nothing ran down his chin he continued to suck and gulp down the liquid. When all of the milk was gone he put the carton down and looked at the food. Sam saw the gaze and knew that his brother was hungry and defeated. So he did the only thing he could think to do. He picked up the spoon and dipped it in the porridge. He lifted it to Dean's mouth and after a moments hesitation Dean accepted it. Sam remembered feeding Jessica once when she was sick. Dean remembered spoonfuls of mashed banana's and a baby Sam. So there they sat, one brother quietly feeding and attending to the brother who had done all these things for him in another lifetime.

* * *

Life can be cruel. One day you work hard and play hard. The next you are held down by the weight of the world. The path gets dark and you can't find your way or see the end. The people you thought you could count on seem to be the ones who flee the quickest, never looking back or returning to offer the help you so desperately need. You are fighting a one sided battle and somehow you never seem to have the upper hand.

Dean couldn't have felt like less of a man. His brother had just fed him like a baby. His head still hurt and he still couldn't move for all the damn contraptions holding him to the bed in this upright position. He looked ridiculous when he smiled and when he spoke it all came out slurred and missing important letters. And worst of all, he found himself wanting his father here with him more than he'd ever wanted anything in his life.

He was worried. Worried about his father, worried about himself, worried about Sam. He ran it through his mind over and over again. If this was how he was going to be forced to live the rest of his life, he didn't want Sam to have to deal with it. Hell, he'd rather Sammy go back to school and become a lawyer then sue these people. When it came down to it he felt like an invalid and Sam had promised to walk if this was the outcome. Now he just had to get that through to Sammy.

Sam was tucked into the corner of Dean's room in the ICU, assuming Dean was asleep, reading some papers Wednesday had given him on rehabilitation. So when Dean started talking Sam was caught off guard.

"You ca go", he mumbled.

"Go? What are you talking about? I'm going to stay till you get moved to your own room. I'll catch a shower then", Sam explained.

"No", Dean tried to clarify, "You pro issed you go. Don wan you ta ing aire a me. Go".

To say Sam's heart was broken was an understatement. He got up and walked over to Dean's bedside. He knew he was risking a chick flick moment, but he put his hand over his brothers limp limb and looked him in the eye. "This isn't permanent Dean. We can fix this, it's just going to take a little time". He got closer, right in Dean's face, "I'm not leaving. That's not the deal we made".

Then as if on cue, a chipper nurse burst into the room. She pushed the tray away from the bed and started man handling Dean. She stuck a thermometer in his ear and it beeped. "Good, good", she mumbled. Next she checked the monitors and bags hanging next to the bed. "Alrighty", slipped out of her mouth and she picked up Deans chart and started scribbling. She placed the folder back at the foot of the bed and finally acknowledged the brothers.

"Good morning gentlemen", she smiled like a lunatic and turned to Dean, "You can have something for pain now if you want it", she chirped.

"Thaan gaah", he dribbled.

She took it as a sign that he was interested and immediately pulled a syringe from her pocket. She pushed the meds into his IV and dropped the needle into the sharps box. She smiled and bounced out of the room.

When she was gone the boys exchanged a bewildered look.

"I want some of whatever she's on", Sam laughed.

"Nah me", Dean closed his eyes and a look of peace swept across his features, "I goo". And just like that Dean faded away again, making a mental note to try and have a coherent discussion about all of this with Sam when he woke up.

* * *

When he was sure Dean was asleep, Sam left the room and went in search of Naylor.

He stood in front of the man's office, more terrified than he had been the first time he found himself here. He knocked on the door and waited for a reply. He heard the man's voice through the heavy wood and walked right in.

"Ah, Good morning Sam. How are you doing?" Naylor asked, as though nothing in the world could be wrong.

Sam shifted on his feet, not at all liking the man who sat in front of him. "Well lets see…I haven't slept in three days, my brother just had brain surgery, and now he's paralyzed on one side of his body. You tell me how I'm doing." He stared the man down, daring him to answer.

"I know", Naylor waved a hand in the air, "I was in early this morning while you were asleep, Dean told me not to wake you. I noticed that Dean's words were slurred then. That's why I sent the therapist to see him. I was just going over her notes".

Sam looked at him, waiting for him to come up with some miracle answer to what was going on. "And?"

"I told you that I had to remove some dead tissue with a laser. Now, this isn't uncommon with that kind of treatment. It's nothing permanent, just as Wednesday told you. It's a disorder of his nervous system. With a little rehab he should be good as new."

Sam didn't want to believe the man. Too much had already happened to Dean that wasn't supposed to. But he took the mans words for what they were and continued on.

"So what else? What about his vision?"

"He said the light wasn't so bad this morning, but that his vision was still obstructed. It's a good sign", he gave Sam a moment to digest it. "Surgery was yesterday, Sam. Just give it some time. Like they say, Rome wasn't built in a day."

"Okay. Time…we can do that", and there was resolve in Sam's voice.

* * *

Sam stopped for coffee and a bite to eat in the cafeteria then went back to Dean. When he came through the door Bobby was hiding behind a newspaper, sitting in Sam's chair.

Bobby dropped his paper and looked up. "Hey Kid".

"Morning Bobby. When'd you get here?" Sam asked, a smile betraying comfort graced his lips.

"Been here about thirty minutes. I didn't want to wake Dean so I just took a seat. How are things going?" He asked.

Sam passed a hand through unwashed hair. "Found out this morning that there is a complication".

"Yeah?" Bobby leaned forward in his chair.

"When they did the surgery they had to remove some dead tissue. A side affect of that is partial paralysis. Doc says it can be corrected with some therapy, but Dean's not handling it well". He thought about telling him about having to feed Dean because he couldn't do it himself, but thought that Dean probably wouldn't want anyone to know. "He thinks I should leave him here and move on so I don't have to take care of him".

"And how are you handling it?" Bobby questioned, knowing full well that the young hunter wasn't doing well. He could see it in his eyes.

"I don't know. It's…well, it's a lot. I didn't think far enough ahead with this. I just let Dean jump in head first", Sam confessed.

"You heard the doc Sam. If he didn't have the surgery he would be a dead man. Don't beat yourself up over this." Bobby looked him over. "When is the last time you ate?"

"Just ate downstairs".

"Okay", Bobby pulled a green duffle out from behind the chair. "Well you might as well shower and shave then. I'm sure Dean won't mind you using his shower".

Sam looked over at Dean who was still knocked out, "Yeah, I guess", then took the bag and locked himself in the tiny bathroom.

He pulled a clean set of clothes from the bag and turned on the shower. He stripped down and stepped in, letting the hot water wash some of the hospital smell from his body. He stayed in there for a good thirty minutes, knowing he wouldn't run out of hot water. When he finally turned the shower head off and got out he felt better. And after he shaved a got dressed he looked like a new man.

He walked out of the bathroom and Dean was up.

"Hey man. Good nap?" He asked comically.

"Nah baa", Dean replied.

Sam dropped the duffle by the door and sat down by the window. He looked at Bobby as if to urge conversation.

"So, Dean", Bobby spoke up, "You think about fixing that car of yours?"

Dean smiled. It was one of the only things he could think about lately. He just wanted to fix her up and hit the road.

"Yeah. Ba e gon pur lie a ki en", he slurred. He frowned feeling bitter about the way he sounded.

"Purr like a kitten, huh?" Bobby mused. "That might take a while. Looks like a heap right now. But I'm willing to help if you really want to get her street worthy again".

"Yeah", Dean answered, relieved Bobby had understood him.

Then Sam's phone rang and everyone stopped, hoping for John to be on the other end of the line.

Sam rushed to the other side of the room and dug through his jacket till he found his phone. He didn't look at the caller ID, he needed to answer before it stopped ringing. He hit the button and pressed the phone to his ear.

"Hello?"

**Ha ha!! Cliff hanger….don't you just hate me? So Dean's not dead, but he's not in good shape either. Did you like it????**

**I am so sick…I can't go into work. So, between sleeping and wishing I was dead (seriously, I feel like my head is going to explode), I'm writing. If any of this comes out weird, I blame it on the medication!! Hopefully I will get more done tomorrow. But no promises!!**

**Thanks for being awesome readers and hanging in when I couldn't get anything up!!! You guys rock my sox!! Now scurry off and review!!**


	12. The Phone Call

**Alright…so Friday I was afraid I was going to die. Then Saturday I was afraid I wasn't. I hate being sick!! My dearest friend thinks I have pneumonia…I don't think it's that bad. Anyway…sickness make it hard to write. I think it starts out bad and ends up good or maybe it's the other way around. You tell me!! Thanks the reviews and well wishes! Keep reading and reviewing! You rock!!!**

He lives this life for the ones he loves. Fighting a fight he never got to choose weather or not he wanted to be part of. Sleeping in disgusting motel rooms, drinking in shady bars, leaning into warm women he didn't know, getting his ass handed to him by things no one else believed in. He does it all because no one asked. No one asked because it's his purpose for being.

* * *

"Hello?" 

"Sam, It's me", Johns gruff voice came over the line, timid and afraid of his son's response.

"Dad", Sam jumped in his skin, expecting the call but surprised to hear his fathers voice all the same. "Where are you? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine Sam. I'm with Jefferson and a few others. How are you boys? I've been calling, trying to get through, but there was a storm and I couldn't get a signal, then your line was busy". He wasn't trying to make excuses but he figured Sam would take it as a pile of just that.

"I've been calling you Dad", Sam looked over at Dean then turned and left the room, "It's not good".

"What? What's not good Sammy?" Concern laced John's voice.

"The edema came back…or it never went away. I'm not really sure. Dean's back in the hospital. He uh, he had surgery yesterday to start relieving the pressure in his head. But there are complications Dad", Sam deadpanned. "He needs you here Dad".

"Is he…" Johns voice trailed.

"No, Dad, no. He has some temporary paralysis, but he's okay." Sam stopped and realized that his father had pulled one on him when he answered the phone. "Where are you Dad?"

"I told you I'm with Jefferson", John dodged.

"So you're in Houma", Sam tried to clarify, giving his father the opportunity to come clean.

"No", John took a deep breath, "We're in Texas. We're on its tail Sammy".

"No Dad". Sam pulled his free hand through his hair and clenched his teeth. "You can't do this now. You need to come back here, he needs you to be here right now. We both need you to be here right now." Sam knew he was pleading, not that it was anything new to him. He had lost count of the hours he spent as a boy pleading with John to let them stay in one town, the hours he spent pleading with God to send Jessica back to him, and recent hours he had spent pleading with Dean to hold on and fight and not leave him here alone.

"Sammy, I'm close. It's here in town and I know we can get it this time. I can't just leave now", John would never admit it, but he was pleading too.

Sam took a deep breath and blew it out slowly, trying to stay calm and not blow his top in the middle of the ICU. "Dad he's your son. So I'm going to tell you the same thing you told me. If you leave, you stay gone… I'm giving you twenty-four hours to make your decision. If you're not here by this time tomorrow, don't bother showing up at all, we won't be taking visitors".

"Sam", John's voice was soft and determined.

"No Dad. It's time for you to man up and make this decision".

They both fell silent and Sam was ready to hang up when he heard his father again. "Can I talk to your brother now?"

"Hang on". Sam went back into Dean's room and held his hand over the phone. "Do you want to talk to Dad?"

Dean looked down at the blankets on his bed and studied them carefully, as though he would find an answer somewhere in the cotton. "Teh heem I aseep". Dean wanted to talk to his father but there was no way he'd understand a word that came out of his mouth or the pain he felt in his heart.

Sam nodded and pulled the phone to his ear. "He's asleep Dad. No, I'll tell him when he wakes up. Yeah, bye Dad". Sam hung up the phone and looked at his brother.

No one said anything, but part of Dean knew and he closed his eyes.

"Alright boys", Bobby stood and broke the silence, "I'm gonna head back to the house. You've got the number, so call me if you need anything, I'll try to get back here tomorrow".

Sam turned and offered his hand. Bobby returned the gesture and shook Sam's hand, squeezing it as tight as he could.

"Thanks Bobby", he muttered.

"Yeah, tanks Baa-eeh", Dean added.

Bobby smiled and felt the warmth that had left the room filling his chest. "No problem boys, like I said, family is family". He didn't give either Winchester a chance to respond, just walked out, ready to rip John a new one when he found him.

* * *

Sam sat down and was about to try to talk to Dean about the phone call when a thin black woman in pink scrubs walked into the room holding a tray. 

"I'll just leave this here", she set the food down on the table and took the remnants of breakfast with her, all smiles and quick movements.

Dean looked at the tray as though it were his enemy.

"Lunch", Sam chirped. "Let's see what you got". He took the top off and started to survey it's contents. _Broth, mashed potatoes, jello, milk, apple juice, and a tall cup. _Sam eyed the food and felt his stomach jump. He did not want to repeat the scene from breakfast…it had obviously bothered Dean.

"Alright", Sam looked at Dean, "What do you want?"

Dean turned his eyes away from his brother. "Nah hun ree".

"Dude, you're always hungry". Then a protest, "I know you".

Dean couldn't deny it. He ate more than a fourteen year old boy going through a growth spurt. And he really was hungry, but he couldn't stomach being fed like an infant again.

"Whas da", his eyes focused on the cup.

"I don't know". Sam picked up the cup and took off the top. He looked at the thick white substance inside then lifted it to his nose. He sniffed and when he didn't detect anything offensive he put it to his lips and tasted.

Dean stared, hoping it wasn't something degrading like ensure or baby formula. Then Sam smiled.

"It's a milkshake or a protein shake or something. It's good".

Dean looked at him with bright eyes and cocked his eyebrow. "Ow". _Yeah, that hurt. No more moving_. "Gimme". He put out his hand.

Sam put the top back on and poked it with a straw then handed it to his brother. Dean gratefully took the cup and lifted it to his chest, sucking down the contents. He smiled. It was good and he was hungry.

Ten minutes and the whole thing was gone. Dean held the cup back out to Sam who accepted it and placed the empty container back on the tray.

"What else?" Sam asked.

"Done" was the only word Dean said before he closed his eyes. "You ea?"

"Yeah, I ate a little while ago", Sam pulled the tray out of the way and leaned forward. "Listen we gotta talk Dean".

"Hmmm", Dean did his best to urge Sam to continue, embarrassed still by the sounds coming from his mouth.

"Okay. I talked to Naylor about your…problem. He said they had to remove some dead tissue when they did the surgery and that's probably what's causing this".

Dean opened his left eye.

"He thinks that you should be able to go through some rehab and get through this fine. I think we should stay here when they release you and do the therapy here. Ya know, where they know all the circumstances".

Sam stopped and waited for some protest or dispute. Any sign that the old Dean was in there, _locked and loaded, fists tight, cocky comeback_. The Dean he knew before the demon attack and the car crash and the edema.

Dean closed his eye, "Bain dea".

"No, your not brain dead, you moron", Sam laughed and Dean grinned. The grin was crooked and weak, but it made Sam's heart surge.

"Bish", Dean muttered.

Sam laughed louder, "Jerk".

But Dean's face changed and his breathing got slower. "Wha abou Da?"

Sam didn't want to tell Dean, but part of Dean already knew Dad hadn't agreed to come, and Sam knew that. So he ran his hand over his face and took a deep breath.

"Dad's with Jefferson in Texas. He found the demon and he wants to go after it". Sam felt his anger and rage rising to the surface. His blood boiling. "I asked him to come, then I told him to come", he looked away from his brother. "I told him he had a day to get here and that if he didn't show by tomorrow not to come at all".

Dean's breaths were coming fast and his heart rate picked up. The heart monitor started to beep and Dean closed his eyes, trying to get a hold of himself. Sam stood up and put a hand on Dean's chest.

"Relax Dean. Just relax".

"He wen affer eeh?" He huffed and breathed hard against the oxygen being forced into his body. "He's gun gee kill. Why den you sta heem? Sam? Why de you te heem to say gone?" His head was pounding and his heart was racing, the beeping monitors and the weight of Sam's hand on him, not helping the situation.

"Dean, you gotta calm down man. Just try to breathe okay? You gotta relax", Sam pled.

But Dean's eyes squeezed tightly closed and his chest heaved, all the motion making his head hurt more.

Two nurses and Naylor burst through the door, pushing Sam out of the way.

"Dean?" Naylor was barking, rubbing a hand on Dean's chest, "Dean can you take a deep breath for me?"

He tried. But he was so…just so. He counted to ten and blew all the air out of his lungs.

"Good, good. Just take some deep breaths for me, okay?" Naylor reached behind him took the oxygen mask from the nurse. He pulled the tube from Dean's nose and put the mask over his mouth. "Just take deep breaths. Are you in pain?"

Dean could only let a muffled whimper.

"Okay, we're going to give you something, okay? Just keep taking deep breaths".

Naylor turned to the nurse behind him and gave an order for meds, then turned to Sam, leaving Dean in the care of his staff.

"What happened Sam?" Naylor asked, almost accusingly.

Sam couldn't look away from Dean. "We…we were talking about our Dad and he got upset and he just… Jesus, is he okay?"

"Ya know, I didn't think I had to say anything, but maybe I should have. You cannot let him get upset or worked up like that", Naylor huffed and crossed his arms over his chest, "You understand me?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm sorry". Sam sat down, the light fading from his eyes, fear and disgust replacing it. 'I did it wrong. I hurt Dean and…Christ. I should've stopped Dad. It's my fault'. The self deprecating pity party was in full swing.

"Dean? That should help. I want you to try to relax, okay? No more stress for today, alright?" Naylor patted him on the chest then shot Sam a look as he followed the nurses out of the room.

Sam slowly walked to Dean's bedside and stood in his line of vision. "Dean?" He urged.

"Go", Dean mumbled under the oxygen.

"Dean, I told you I'm not going anywhere. It's not the deal we made".

"You toll Da to say gun. I whan to be a wone. Peas jus leaf". The oxygen mask fogged when Dean spoke.

"Come on Dean. I know. I know I screwed up. But it'll all work out, I swear. Please Dean just give it a chance", Sam was begging again. Begging for mercy from his brother for his misguided actions.

"I tire Sam. Jus go". Dean closed his eyes and effectively closed himself off from his brother.

Sam could do nothing. He turned and left his brother alone in the quiet he demanded. He walked into the hallway and stopped, leaning one shoulder against the wall. He didn't know where to go or what to do, but he did know that if he didn't make this right, he'd lose both his father and his brother.

* * *

Bobby got out of his truck and slammed the car door hard. He had spent too much time helping Johnny and caring for those boys to let him tear apart what was left of the family. He stalked into the house and threw his keys on the table. Cletus bound into the room but stopped short of Bobby, smelling the anger on his master. Bobby shot him a look and he whimpered and ran back out of the building. 

"Alright", Bobby picked up the phone and dialed John's number, counting and taking deep breaths as it rang.

"Yeah", John answered.

"What's your damage Winchester? Your son tells you his brother is in the hospital hooked up to machines, a tube coming out of his head, paralyzed…and you go on a hunt? Are you insane? I mean, have you been diagnosed?" He only stopped ranting to catch his breath.

"Bobby, listen", John started only to be cut off.

"No you listen to me jack ass! Your oldest boy is bad off. The worst I've ever seen him. And Sam? Sam is falling apart. He is trying so hard to hold it all together, but it ain't easy for the boy, and there is only so much an old junk man can do. So you put your ass in that truck and come back here before this whole damn thing comes crashing down on all of us".

John's heart was breaking. He had to make a choice, make a move. Dean wasn't dying. He was in good hands…he had doctors and nurses and Sam and Bobby. And John knew he had to do this now or he would lose more than he could replace.

"I have to do this Bobby. I have to get it before it get's him. I can't lose Sammy". John's words were almost tearful.

"What are you talking about? Lose Sam?" Bobby was honestly confused.

_Deep breath_. "Sammy is different. He has a gift. There are a lot of others like him with these gifts. He gets these visions of people suffering and dying. And he uses them to stop tragedies, to help people. But this Demon wants him to use them for dark things. He's after Sam. He'll turn him or kill him. And if he turns him he'll be just like the things he's hunted his whole life, and he wouldn't want to live that way." John took a breath that the heaven's could feel and hear, "And I'll have to kill him Bobby. Kill my baby boy".

Bobby didn't know what to say. He wanted to believe that John Winchester had finally inhaled too much incense or drank gun oil. Maybe hit his head hard enough this time. It sounded so far fetched…visions and demons and death. But then as the initial shock wore off, it all made perfect sense. The fire in 83', the hunting, the obsession, the rise in possessions, John's abduction, the crash.

"Do Sam and Dean know all of this?" Bobby asked warily.

"Some. Not all", John replied. "They know the visions are connected to the demon. They know it's why Mary and Sam's girlfriend died. Sam knows the demon wants him for some reason. But the rest I haven't told them and they haven't figured it out".

"John", Bobby broke in, "What are you going to do? Exorcise the damn thing? Send it back to hell to piss it off and give it time to regroup and build strength?"

"No. I'm gonna use The Colt and I'm going to kill it. Stop what's coming and save Sam's life. Save Dean's life".

"What do you mean save Dean's life", Bobby wasn't getting it, wasn't putting all the pieces together.

"That yellow eyed freak tried to kill Dean once already. He knows Dean will do anything to save Sam, so Dean will be the first one it targets when it comes for Sammy".

The line fell silent as both men let the weight of the situation hang in the air.

"I've go to do this Bobby. It's not about avenging Mary's death anymore. It's about saving my children. I just need you to hold them together till I can finish this…till I can explain and make amends for what I have done to their lives".

"Okay, okay. I'll do what I can John, but this isn't going to be easy. They are your boys after all. They come with the Winchester chin and the Winchester stubbornness. But I'll do what I can".

* * *

Everything was fuzzy and his whole body felt heavy. Drugs are quick. He knew he should be sleeping, enjoying the break from his pain and taking solace in the darkness, but he couldn't. He had closed his eyes, slowed his breathing, shifted his ass in the bed. But nothing helped. Even with the pain meds coursing through him, for the first time in weeks, Dean just couldn't sleep. 

Green eyes peeked from under soft lashes. He couldn't move his head, so he shifted his eyes instead. He looked around the room, wanting to see one of them there, knowing neither would be. He was in no physical pain, needed no one to run in and save him, no one to fill him with drugs, or whisper untruths about _it'll all be okay_. He just needed a break from all the things that were happening, all the things being said and done and forced.

To the left was a small window that offered a view of the parking garage and a wisp of the tiny hamlet the hospital resided in. And when he focused through the blur of his vision he could see the frost on the window. He stared harder and he could see the snow falling outside. He'd always liked snow. It was pure and soft and it comforted him, forcing him to remember his mother on his fourth birthday, all wrapped up in a soft blue parka, throwing fallen snow in the air so it would cascade around him.

He missed her. More than Sammy ever would. More than Dad could understand. He wished she was around now, here to hold his hand and warm the room with her smile. But it was just a pipe dream. So he looked away from the snow and thought of Sam. He knew that Sam was doing the best he could, hiding his own fears and discomfort and trying to be the big brother in this situation. Facing that fact changed the anger Dean had felt. But it didn't change the fact that he wanted his father to be there where Dean could see to it that he was safe and not trying to take on things bigger than he could handle.

The hours were going by, the drugs were wearing off, and sleep was finally calling to Dean. Sam had done as he requested and left him alone in peace and quiet. Five hours ago. What Dean didn't know was that Sam was sitting in a chair just outside of his door, filled with resolve and making plans. Plans to stop worrying over the things and people he couldn't control and start taking action where he could.

* * *

"Excuse me?" Sam sat up straight and caught Dean's nurse lightly by the wrist. 

"Yes", she looked down at the hand on her arm and back into the young man's eyes.

"I was wondering if you could help me". Sam pointed a thumb to Dean's door behind him and stated his case. "This guy is my brother and he's…well, he's a stubborn man. They have him on some kind of soft diet and I was hoping we could change that. You see, with the paralysis he can't feed himself and he won't let me do it and I'm afraid he's not eating enough. I was wondering if they could bring him some solid food he'd be willing to eat", Sam put on his puppy dog eyes and tried his best to sway the woman to his side.

She sighed and patted his hand on her arm, causing him to drop it. She looked at the name on the door and back at Sam. "Mr. McGulicuty, your brother is on a soft diet because of the paralysis. We don't want him to have an accident and maybe hurt himself".

Sam looked at her completely confused.

"I've seen it a hundred times", she started, "The patient cannot feel their tongue and when they try to eat they end up biting their tongue or their cheek and bleeding. It doesn't sound like that much of a problem, but it can be a set back and it can lead to infection".

"Okay". Sam blew out a hard breath, racking his brain for an answer. "What I need for you to do is make sure he gets things that he can eat without using utensils. I don't know what that might be, but at this point he's had milk, a shake, and some porridge, and he needs to be eating more than that".

The old Winchester charm cranked up and the loving brother puppy dog eyes turned on, the woman caved. "Alright. I'll talk to the doctor and the dietician and we'll see what we can get for him".

"Thank You". Sam stood and faced the door behind him. He looked at his watch._ Five thirty_. He had been gone long enough for Dean to calm down and sleep through his pain medication. He figured it would be safe to return, so he pushed the door and walked right in.

As expected, Dean was asleep and safe in his bed. Sam thought he looked younger when he slept…not pushing thirty and fighting off pushing up daisies. So Sam sat back in his chair, filled with resolve and excited to face a new day. Until dinner came.

**Okay…let me first say I'm sorry this has taken so long. The fever comes and goes, as does my lucidity and the desire to be conscious!! But I'm getting better, so more should be coming. So yeah… I think this one could have been better, but cut a girl a break…I'm sick tries her own Sammy-esk puppy dog eyes By the by Heather...my neighbor really brought me peach pie and I thought of you!!**

**Please send me reviews…they keep me writing!! OH!! And in my stupor last night I decided how this thing is going to end…Some will love it some will hate it….and I'm rambling…happy hunting!! You guys rock my sox!!**


	13. Coffee And A Sponge Bath

**Okay…the no alert thing sux! I missed like three new chapters of one of my fave stories. Hope everyone is finding this one!**

**Note: We all remember my friend Jumper (the one who lept off the roof –yeah we call him Jumper now)? Well he was reading this thing and couldn't understand what Dean was saying, so I started adding the decoded lingo in parenthesis.**

**Read read read! John's angle is getting so good…and Dean is…well…**

"What's going on, Winchester?" John was sitting in the gravel parking lot of Libby's Dinner in the middle of nowhere Texas and Jefferson was leaning against the open window, staring him down.

"Nothing", John tried twice before he finally ripped his eyes away from the phone. "It's nothing. Dean's just still a little banged up, so Bobby's watching the boys". He stared his comrade in the eyes, "Everything's fine".

"Alright", Jefferson pounded an open palm on the side of the truck, "lets get in there and get some chow before Josh finds a way to get us thrown out". He didn't wait for John, he just turned and walked away from the old black truck and headed inside.

John fell from the now open door of the truck and looked up at the dark clouds swirling in the sky. "I'm going to get this done. It's all gonna be fine boys". He slipped his keys into his pocket and made his way into the dinner, taking a seat with the three other men.

"Okay. So the father works most nights in San Antonio driving a cab and the mother is left home alone with the boy" John was mapping it all out as the men ate greasy dinner food and drank thick black coffee. "According to the birth announcement in the paper, the kid will be exactly six months old tomorrow. That means this thing is coming tonite".

"So we go in, let the mother know what's going on and get her out of the house and into the city with her husband, right?" Dwight asked.

"No, no. I want to get into the town and see what we can dig up on these people first. Besides, I don't think telling this girl that a demon is coming for her is a good idea. And I want to be there to get this thing. So we dig up information and then we lay low…wait this bastard out. Then I'll send him back to hell permanently". There was enough aggression in John's voice to frighten the other men a little, but make them agree to the plan all the same.

"Okay", Joshua put his fork down and thumped a fist on the Formica covered table. "Let's rodeo gentlemen. It's five o'clock now, so we don't have much time to do this research".

Crumpled bills were dropped on the table and last sips of coffee were taken as the men stood and walked out of the dinner, chests out, all of them filled to the brim with pride and purpose.

* * *

There wasn't much to be found on the family. Mom and Dad met through friends at UT in Austin according to the wedding announcement. The most interesting thing that Dwight could pull up on the family was that the pair had both been born in Sommerset and gone to grade school and junior high there, but had never met. And while any chick who was worth her weight in nail polish and mascara would find that to be the most romantic and astounding coincidence, Dwight just thought it was poor community socialization.

John had driven to the clerk of courts office, which also served as the local police station, post office, and DMV. He flashed his ID and tapped the star on his jacket _John Marshall, Texas Ranger_ and quickly got his hands on the records for the purchase of the home and the title on the cab. All in all, things seemed pretty straight forward. The young couple owned the house outright and were leasing the cab from a company in San Antonio by the name of _Texas Line Cab Company._

Jefferson dug up what he could on the mother, Aileen. She was a school teacher on sabbatical. Her mother and father still lived in Sommerset and her sister was an event planner in Dallas. No tragedies had befallen the family in the past, unless you count the untimely death of the beloved family dog when it was hit by a car a few years back. Aileen's parents were clean, lived in the same house for thirty two years, and the sister seemed to be the epitome of country come to the city, making a name for herself in a huge company. Tate, the father, was an only child, raised by his grandmother after his parents died in an unfortunate boating accident when he was an infant. Good student but not Einstein. Dropped out of college his junior year because he couldn't afford the tuition. Grandma died three years ago from a combination of pneumonia and old age. No history of instability or trouble with the law.

Joshua scoped out the house. One story, brick and stucco on the far end of town. At least an acre between the Oakstons and their closest neighbor. Small empty field to the east and an old dried up well in the back. Front door with a screen, back porch, bay window in the front. Trees dotted here and there, offering cover for the hunters as they'd wait in the dark of night.

The men gathered back at the Krispy Kreme on the far side of town and exchanged information. Nothing astounding, but it was always better to be well informed than to go into any situation unprepared.

"Sun's going down. Let's head up to the house and settle in". John was barking out orders as he always did. But why would he do anything differently, especially now that he was fighting the battle he had been preparing himself for for twenty some odd years.

* * *

"Oh, I don't want to wake him", the woman whispered as she placed a tray on the table next to Dean's sleeping form. She handed Sam a card. "This is a list of the things that Theresa, she's the dietician, put together. All of them should work in his soft diet and be easy for him to handle". She smiled warmly, taking great pleasure in being able to help in way other than just delivering trays. "Have him look over it and cross off anything he won't eat".

Sam thanked her profusely as she left the room, assuring her he would go over the list with Dean and that he really did appreciate the lengths they were going to to accommodate his brother.

When the woman had left the room, Sam took the top off of the tray to inspect what the kitchen staff had put together._ Banana, fries, shake, popsicle, milk, juice. Dear God, could they come up with something a little more appetizing?_ Sam was covering the tray when he heard Dean stir.

"Hey", he was whispering and looking at Dean like any sudden movement or loud noise would send Dean into cardiac arrest.

Dean's eyes blinked slowly, they were incredibly heavy all of the sudden. "You ca bacch (You came back)", he smiled a crooked smile.

"Never really left. Just gave you a little space". Sam pushed the tray in front of his brother. "Looks like dinner came. You want to try and eat?"

Dean surveyed the tray and figured he might as well. "Kay. Da a banan? (Okay. Is that a banana?)" He asked with a coy smile on his face.

Sam frowned and looked at the fruit. "Yeah, it's a banana Dean. You don't want to eat that do you?"

Dean chuckled and rubbed his chest to nurse the pain it caused. "If it mean you gon url (If it means you're going to hurl)".

"Yah", Sam pushed the offending fruit from his view, "I hate those things", he smiled at Dean's glee. "You want some of these fries?"

"Fies (Fries)", Dean's interest was peaked. "Yeah I ty em (Yeah I'll try them)".

Sam pushed the fries around and put a straw in Dean's milk. The older hunter sat quietly eating the potatoes. He was pleasantly surprised to realize that none of the food on the tray required a utensil or Sam's aide. When he finished he looked at Sam and asked.

"Di you do dis (Did you do this)? No spoon stuff."

Sam grinned guiltily. He'd been caught. "Yeah. I had a little talk with the nurse".

"Tank you (Thank You)", Dean drawled.

"No problem", Sam started rubbing his palms together. "Listen Dean. I'm sorry…about earlier I mean. I'm sorry about Dad and I'm sorry I made you sick".

"Doan urry bou eehh. You ean weh (Don't worry about it. You meant well)". Dean tried not to look Sam in the eye, this was quickly turning into one of those chick flick moments.

"Did you think about what I said earlier?" Sam asked milking the moment for all he could.

"Terapy? (Therapy?)"

"Yeah. Do you want to stay or what?" Sam egged him on.

"We ca say (We can stay)", Dean conceded.

"Good", he stood up and stretched his shoulders. "I'm gonna go get some coffee, so eat that banana while I'm gone. Oh! And we gotta look at this list and tell these people what you aren't willing to eat", he tossed the card to Dean and walked out of the door. "I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere".

"Ha ha", Dean mocked as Sam disappered.

* * *

John parked his truck to the east under a sprawling pecan tree. The others spread their vehicles accordingly and met behind the well at the back end of the house, weapons ready.

"Okay. We spread out. Watch your movements and each other. Keep your heads down and look for movement coming from the house or the road. No mistakes guys. When I move you move. Follow my lead". John barked out the orders and moved toward the house before anyone could object or intervene.

The men spread out and went to ground, just as they were told to. Minutes passed, turning into hours, bringing dawn ever closer. Each man found a point of the house to focus on and led their eyes around the property till their eyes came back around.

Joshua busied his mind by thinking off all the weapons he needed to get his hands on. Other hunters regularly cleaned him out of weapons and ammunition so replenishing his stock was a full time job. A couple of shotguns, new machetes, boxes of buck shot, silver needed to be melted down.

Dwight prayed. Sure he had given up the life of a priest, but it didn't make him any less faithful. He went through his rosary once for each hunter in his presence and three times for the family they were looking after. He followed it with the Novena and a handful of latin protection rites. Dwight's faith was his ammunition in this fight against good and evil.

John didn't have to busy his mind, it was reeling. He couldn't tear himself away from the fact that son had given him an ultimatum. _If you leave stay gone_. He had wanted to tell the young man the whole truth about the situation, but just couldn't see scaring him any further than he already had. He had Dean on his mind, too. He knew the boy would be taking all of this very hard, but felt sure he would be fine and that his brother would get him through it.

And to the far east side of the house, Jefferson was crouched down low, nearly prone, going through all of the facts and information over and over in his mind. The mother's unremarkable existence, the father's meager upbringing. The child's birth and supposed destiny sat on edge of his brain. Something didn't feel right about this. So Jefferson dug deep into the recesses of his mind and pulled out the dates and numbers. And then, as the sun surfaced over the hill to his side, he realized what the mistake was.

He kept low to the ground, aware he was much more visible now that light was removing his cover. He crept to John's side and tapped his rifle twice to let the man know it was a friendly intrusion.

"What are you doing?" John gritted through his teeth.

"It's not the kid", Jefferson huffed. "It's the father".

"What are you talking about? How do you know that?" John questioned him quickly and with out emotion.

"The father. His birthday is in two days. He'll be twenty three, John. Same as Sam. No parents, no ties. And I'll bet you he drives that cab at night because he doesn't sleep so well at night…like Sam".

John weighed it all in his mind. His friend had to be right. The demon hadn't come for the child as they had expected it to. And the father fit the profile. Then the consequence of his haste to move and his misguided decision hit him hard, dragging his heart down to his belly. He chose to seek out this demon and not return to his son's bedside and now…now he knew he was wrong. He had not only chosen the wrong course of action, but the path he was on was erroneous.

As the sun rose higher in the sky he knew it was too late to go to his boys, Sam wouldn't accept him and explaining himself would do him no good.

He looked over at Jefferson. "Okay. Round em' up, we need a new plan".

Jefferson let out two animal like cries and tapped the butt of his riffle on the ground three times, signaling the men to regroup.

Once they were all seated on the ground near the well John explained the situation to the men and the quartet decided to hold up in the motel downtown till they could take further action. Plan set in place, the men scattered and returned to their vehicles, making a move toward the Alamo Inn.

Four rooms, four fake names, four fake credit cards. _'ohn Marshall_ John, _Simon Peterson_ Dwight, _Thomas Duke_ Jefferson, and _Ben Cartwright_ Joshua. Joshua always played it a little to fast and loose.

As the men settled into their rooms and laid their heads down to get some much needed rest, John paced the walkway in front of the motel, trying to decide what he would say when he called his sons.

* * *

Sam came back and the banana was gone. The offensive smell remained but the fruit had been devoured. "You look at the list?" He asked his brother.

Dean's edges were tattered. It had been hours since anyone had given him anything for the pain and he was losing his grip again. So he kept his eyes closed and settled for only mutterings in place of strained words.

"Nnghh", he spilled.

"Are you okay man? Should I go see about you meds or something?" Sam wanted to help his brother who was now forcing short breaths and trying to breathe through his pain.

"Uh huh".

Sam lept from his chair and found a woman at the nurse's station. "Uh…I know I must be a pain, but could you check if the doc can give my brother anything for pain? I don't' know how much he should be getting or if this is excessive or what".

"No, it's not excessive. He had brain surgery…we just need to monitor how much we give him. I'll send someone in with something in just a minute". She smiled and started flipping through papers on her desk.

Sam waited till he saw the nurse head for the room before he returned to Dean's side. "Nurse is coming", he soothed, "it'll be just a minute".

And he was right. The nurse appeared out of nowhere and pushed something into Dean's IV that settled the man almost instantly. "He'll be fine. That's got a bit of a sedative, so he should sleep through the night".

"Thank You". Sam was a polite man, even keeled, salt of the earth really, but he was getting tired of constantly thinking people. When the nurse was gone he sat down next to Dean and started his soft ramblings about the car and seeing the Stones in concert and coffee in the morning if he promised not to spill it. And as Dean calmed and his chest rose and fell in a measured rhythm, he switched into big brother mode.

"Whan you to seep Sam (Want you to sleep Sam)", he dribbled.

"I'll sleep if you sleep", Sam bargained knowing Dean had no control over it.

Edges softened as darkness crept in and pain slipped away. Soon both Winchesters were fast asleep among beeping machines in a room filled with an antiseptic smell.

* * *

"Sam?" A gruff voice whispered in his ear and a heavy hand fell on his shoulder. "Sam? Did you milk the cat Sam?"

Had he heard that right? _Milk the cat?_ Who was talking to him like that? What did they want? How did they get into the room? He fought the sleep that had been swaddling him and climbed out. He reached out and grabbed the hand on his shoulder then looked up to find a familiar face.

Bobby laughed and wrenched his hand out of Sam's grasp. "Easy boy. Just a little humor. That's how my Daddy did it when I was a boy. In fact, that's the way used to wake up your brother when he was small".

Sam laughed at the idea of Dean being roused by the rough old man whispering things in his ear. _Did the ostrich give you his homework Dean?_

"Emghh", Sam stretched his arms out and let out a moan. "What time is it?"

"About eight o'clock. Dean was up, but the nurse gave him some shot and he's been out for a while. She said you'd been asleep at least twelve hours". Bobby was glad that the boy had gotten some sleep, even if it was in an aluminum chair, keeping watch over his protector.

Sam looked at Dean and found himself smiling at his brothers form. "The swelling in his face is practically gone". He turned to Bobby. "He looks like Dean again".

"Yeah", Bobby chuckled, "less like a fat mummy".

"Di you ca me a fa mu ehh (Did you call me a fat mummy)?" Dean was awake and had caught the end of the conversation.

"Nah, I said you looked 'less' like a fat mummy".

"Hey, so, the doc said they were going to move you out of ICU and into a private room today", Sam told his brother, trying to seem excited at the prospect.

"An you say I ca ha cau ehh (and you said I could have coffee)", Dean pressed, desiring the hot brew.

"After you have breakfast", Sam laid it out plain and simple. _Take action where you can._

* * *

Breakfast came and went as each meal was becoming less of an ordeal. Bobby brought coffee up for all three hunters, giddy like a grandfather spoiling his grandson with sugar.

Sam left the top on Dean's cup and slipped a straw into the small hole in the lid. Dean stared at the straw, eyes betraying the slightest bit of defeat. But he was reaching and grabbing for the cup all the same, trying to ignore Sam's warnings. _You have to sip it through the straw Dean_ then _you better let it cool off a little_ and an attempt at humor _don't want them to have to move you to the burn unit_.

After the coffee cups were drained and Dean was bordering on wired, a nurse appeared and he thought the day could get no better. "Just a little sponge down", she told him. Bobby slipped out of the room on the pretense he needed to find a copy of the paper while Sam stuck close by. _For the nurses benefit you understand_. She was in her late twenties and obviously taken by Dean's attempts to charm her. She did just as she was expected to, sponged off his skin to remove the feeling of filth, though truth be told he wasn't actually dirty…just not clean. She promised to be careful and helped him shave and remove days worth of stubble. When she wiped his face with a wet cloth she offered him a mirror to inspect the work.

"Nah", he looked up at his baby brother, "how do I loo Sam (How do I look Sam)?"

Sam just smiled, examining the woman's handy work, "Better. Still not as good as me. But better".

The nurse left, a better woman for having survived the encounter, and Bobby returned. The mornings conversation leaned toward the cars, as it usually did with Dean and Bobby, and away from what needed to be discussed. Bobby was fighting Dean on the stance of a Chevelle being a better car than an Impala. _'t's smaller, but it handles a hell of a lot better_ and _comes off the line faster than your big block _Bobby stood proud of his 1972 Chevelle, Singer's own baby. But Dean reassured him that the big muscle of the Impala was better for the job. _It's got 325 HP to your 200. Won't peel out but it'll haul, old man. _ Sam just sat and listened, completely thrown by the things the two men were talking about. _Give me a computer over a car any day_.

Things were swinging and the mood was light when a nurse, an orderly, and Naylor came through the door.

"So, how are we feeling this morning?" He asked Dean.

"Nah too baa (Not too bad)", he confirmed.

"Alright, well, big day. We're going to go ahead and move you into a private room and start a therapy regimen as well. You think you're up for all of that?" Naylor was going with the flow of the room, all smiles and cheerful responses.

"Les go", Dean encouraged.

Sam started to pick up the things they had strewn throughout the room, _jackets, cups, duffle bag, cellphones, newspapers_, as the orderly pulled the bed away from the wall and the nurse pressed buttons on the machines Dean was attached to.

The burly orderly pushed the bed out of the room carefully and headed down the hall. Bobby caught Sam by the arm as the two followed in Dean's caravan.

"Hey", he kept his voice low, "I wanted to let you know. I talked to your Daddy last night".

Sam stopped in his tracks, turning to the older hunter in search of what he desperately wanted to hear. "And?"

Bobby just shook his head, "I don't think he's coming. He says they're real close. Says its too important to walk right now".

Sam closed his eyes and huffed. "Always is".

"I know Sam", Bobby added. "About the visions and the premonitions tied to the demon".

Sam felt exposed, naked.

"I think this is something he needs to do for you, boy. Something to make up for all the times he couldn't do nothing. Just give him a chance, son". Bobby was asking Sam to do something he wasn't sure Sam could do. But he'd ask it anyway.

Sam just nodded his head and took slow even breaths. "Okay", he looked down the hall seeing Dean getting further away. "Come on. We better catch up".

"Call him Sam", was the only thing Bobby said.

* * *

John was still pacing the walk in front of the motel when Jefferson appeared.

"You know, I've seen you rattled and I've seen you distracted. But this I've never seen. So you gonna keep lying to me or you gonna come clean and tell me what the hell is going on?" That was Jefferson's way. Direct hit, take no prisoners.

John looked at him and shook his head.

"Unh unh Winchester", he grabbed Johns jacket, "I'm not risking my tail on a hunt if you're head ain't in it. You gotta get your shit straight or you're gonna get someone killed".

John's eyes were wide and blown deep. "Dean had brain surgery. They say he's going to be fine".

"Shit John", Jefferson let slip, "Why the hell didn't you say something. We'd have handled this so you could be with your boy".

"No", John couldn't raise sad and ashamed eyes to meet his friend. "Sammy called, told me to be there in twenty four hours or not come back at all". His hand went to his forehead and he rubbed his temples slowly. "I chose to come here and finish this hunt. And now it's the wrong damn thing and I've lost my boys".

Jefferson thought two seconds before he condemned his fellow hunter. "You stupid ass. I don't understand you, never will. Don't you get it? Revenge isn't worth all this".

"It's not about revenge anymore. It's about keeping Sam safe and keeping Dean alive", John confessed.

"What are you talking about?"

"Come on", John pushed the man toward his room, "Lets go in here and talk. You're gonna want to be sitting down for this".

Inside of John's poorly decorated motel room the two men sat in rawhide chairs and discussed the past and the future of the Winchesters. John opened up and told him about Sam's visions and Dean's vulnerability. He told him everything that he could tell the man without feeling like he had betrayed his family.

Then as the pair sat in a new found silence, a plan was formed. The men would split up, two with the mother, two with the father. Joshua and Dwight would sit on the house, watching the infant and his mother. Jefferson and John would hire the cab to take them out to the desert, getting the man far from civilization, luring the demon out onto the open road.

Jefferson pushed himself out of the chair and stood towering over John, "I'll tell the men. You call your sons", and he walked out of the door.

John pulled the phone from his pocket for what felt like the millionth time and started to piece together what he would say to his sons to make them understand. Not make it okay, just understood. He looked at the time, _11:47_ , good a time as any.

**Ahhh!! That chapter took so long! I hope you guys liked it. I'm going to try to tap some out tonite, but don't get too excited yet…it is Thursday so I'll want to be seeing the boys on the screen. Hope ya'll are all well…I'm starting to feel more human…thanx for the well wishes.**

**Keep reading and reviewing. You guys ROCK MY SOX!!**


	14. Promise Me Son

**OMG!! I'm Back!! Don't hate me…please! I was sick and I thought it was better but it got worse…but now I'm up to snuff. Chapter 14 today and another chapter soon to follow.**

**I appreciate those of you have stuck by and are waiting for this. Enjoy it. I feel like this chapter is strong, good plot movement, but the next one…all you readers who like (to quote one of my favorite songs) for it to hurt so good…you are going to love what's coming!!**

**Sorry this took so long…please keep reading and reviewing…you guys ROCK!!**

Dean had been returned to his first room, number 264, on the second floor. Bobby had waited till the boys were settled and then gone home, hoping Sam would listen to him and make the call. The therapist, Wednesday, had come by for Dean's preliminary session, which had gone well. All in all the day was long, but it was good. Dean was taking everything in stride and his spirits seemed high. Sam could be nothing but thankful even if there was a storm raging behind his hazel eyes.

"You di en as me to ay (You didn't ask me today)", Dean spoke up in a weak but cheerful tone.

Sam knew what Dean was alluding to and he hadn't asked because he was tired of the same answer. But faced with Dean's pestering he asked. "How is your vision today?"

"Be er. I ca see now. Ehh burry, buh I ca fi a lee see (Better. I can see now. It's blurry, but I can finally see)". Dean was smiling the now familiar crooked smile that comforted Sam and pulled at his heart.

Sam's breath caught in his chest and he was sure his heart had skipped a beat. He had sat through all of this for so long, holding on to hope and clinging to anything, waiting for something to change, and now it had. He thought his heart would explode in his chest. Dean just sat smiling while his little brother quietly suffered cardiac arrest.

Sam clasped a hand over his heart, flailing in his chair a little for effect. "Holy shit. I'm gonna need a new ticker". He stopped his theatrics and looked at his brother.

"Ja ma keen (drama queen)" Dean quipped.

"Are you serious? You can really see? You're not shitting me?" Sam stood and leaned over his brother's bed.

"I ser yus Sam eeh. I whan to te you firs. (I'm serious Sammy. I wanted to tell you first)". Dean couldn't stop smiling, because Sam wouldn't stop smiling.

"Well shit", Sam dropped onto the bed at Dean's feet. "I…I was starting to worry that nothing was going to happen, man".

Sam was smiling the smile of a man who had just gotten his life back. Dean's vision was getting better. And when he thought about it, Dean's mood had been better that morning. Sure, he'd had coffee and a sponge bath, and should be happy. But this was not the simple joy that Dean found in watching a waitress in a short skirt or getting one more pancake on his short stack than Sam. No, this was something more profound. And Dean had been sitting on it for who knows how long, waiting till they were alone to tell Sam.

And as if on cue, Sam felt warmth wash across his face, covering his cheeks and filling his nose. 'Yeah, chick flick moment. Bring on the tears.' But he held it in and looked down and away in one swift movement.

"You kay?" Dean prodded.

Sam ran a hand over his face and took a deep breath before he looked back at Dean. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm good, just tired". 'Exhausted from waiting for things to change. Now all I have to do is find Dad.'

* * *

She had been there before, dozens of times. She'd stood in front of families, couples, individuals, friends. She'd given this speech over and over, never missing an important point, always ready for any questions the patient or their loved ones had. _It's not something physical really. Its neurological. The brain just doesn't remember how to do things. So we show it how, practice a lot, and get better. _She had looked at Dean with stern eyes, knowing he'd be a problem and made herself clear on the matter. _You have to take this seriously and do exactly as I say. It's a lot of work and its not going to be easy. But the payoff is worth it. So no backing out once we get going._ Dean had agreed and jumped in right away, eager to get back to living.

But two days later, things had changed. The man she worked with before, the one with the soft green eyes, was gone. The one left in his place seemed upset, distant. He was quick to anger and didn't seem to really be trying. He gave off the vibe that she was actually keeping him from something. _Wallowing in self-pity perhaps._

"One more time Dean and we'll be done. I want you to pick up the block with your right hand", Wednesday was speaking slowly and softly. She stared him down, unwilling to give in to his current disposition.

Dean's eyes scanned the room. 'Where did Sammy go?' He took a deep breath and looked at the menacing wooden block on the table in front of him. He concentrated. He lifted his right arm and it came slowly down to the table. He fought with his hand, with his brain, with the block. He tried to wrap his heavy hand around the item, but he couldn't grasp it. Then frustration took over and Dean had no control.

His left arm flew up, grasping the block so much more easily than the right had. He grabbed it and threw it with all the force in his body. It hit the wall behind the door and came to rest on the floor. It was the most he had moved in weeks and it left his chest heaving, his heart pounding, his lungs searching for air.

"Okay", She mumbled to herself as she crossed the room and retrieved the block. "I'm gonna go and I want you to try and calm down", she started tucking the tools of her trade into her bag. "When your brother comes back I'd like for the two of you to go over these words and phrases", she placed a sheet of paper on the table in front of Dean. "Repeat them to each other and try to enunciate and make them come out correctly".

Dean glared, not in the mood for the coaching or encouragement she was paid to offer. "F-I-n-e". He concentrated and pushed the word out in a mocking tone.

Wednesday closed her bag and walked out, not even affording the man a glance as the door clicked closed behind her.

Dean sat still on the bed, taking deep breaths and trying to calm himself. It had been two days since his vision had started coming back and the progress had stopped. Yeah, he could see, but it was still all a blur. And Sam. Sam was different since that afternoon Dean had told him the good news. He had started out happy, but as the day turned into night Sam was growing detached. He had palmed his cell the entire day and by the time Dean's dinner came he was too engrossed in his own world to even offer Dean any help. And when Dean asked Sam what was bothering him he had no answer, only suggested Dean try to get some rest. Sam was keeping something from him and he didn't like it.

But he was exhausted. Completely wiped. An hour of trying to catch balls, swatting at objects on a table, and forcing simple words from his lips had left him feeling like he'd run a marathon. So he closed his eyes and shifted his position, thinking he'd get some rest before Sam came back and they started their awkward dance around each other again.

The air stirred in the room as the door flew open and slammed shut. Dean didn't know how long he had been asleep, but he knew this was not the way he wanted to wake up.

"Dean, what the hell is the matter with you?" Sam's voice bellowed through the room and he was sure he could see the window rattle.

"Wah? I tying to seep Sam (What? I'm trying to sleep Sam)!" Dean whined.

"I come back from taking a break and the therapist stops me in the hall to tell me you refused to work today and that you threw a block at her? What the hell is the matter with you?" Sam's face was contorted and he was clearly pissed off, but it couldn't match what his words made Dean feel.

"Tae ing a bake? Wah, you ha eeh nuf uh bay e sing me Sam? Am I key ing you fra sah mo impotent (Taking a break? What, you have enough of babysitting me Sam? Am I keeping you from something more important)?" Dean yelled right back.

"Unh unh. Don't you try and change the subject here Dean. That woman is doing nothing but trying to help you and you start shit with her because of whatever crawled up your caw", Sam's nostrils flared and his heart thumped against his ribs. "She doesn't deserve your brand of crap because of whatever mood you're in".

"You wan to kno wah my pa bem is lil man? I te you. My vi jun is stih burry. I stu in dis damn beh. An you are key ing some ting fra me. Now you nee to ca keen wi me an an sir for you bee haver (You want to know what my problem is little man? I'll tell you. My vision is still blurry. I'm stuck in this damn bed. And you are keeping something from me. Now you need to come clean with me and answer for your behavior)", Dean fought back.

Dean's heart monitor started to beep and Sam reacted instantly. "Relax Dean. You gotta relax okay? Otherwise that doctor is going to come back in here and knock you out and you won't see me again for a long time. And that's if they don't throw me out".

Dean closed his eyes and counted to ten. He held his breath as long as he could and blew it out nice and slow. He could feel Sam's big hand on his chest offering the only comfort he could give. Dean bit his bottom lip and opened his eyes to see Sam's filled with guilt and sorrow.

"I okay", Dean tapped Sam's hand on his chest and looked his brother in the eye. "Bu you gah te me wus go on. Is ehh Dah (But you've got to tell me what's going on. Is it Dad)?"

Sam stepped away from the bed and ran a hand across is face. "Yeah Dean. Yeah it's Dad".

* * *

Jefferson looked at the picture again. It was a surveillance photo of Tate Oakston sitting on the trunk of his yellow cab smoking a cigarette. _One of Joshua's many talents._

He noted the plates on the vehicle and memorized the face of the young driver before folding the paper and tucking into a pocket on his jacket.

" Alright", Jefferson's eyes swept the street, "Cab company said he usually waits to pick up tourists here at the Riverwalk. So we wait and grab a ride when he shows".

"Right", John squinted into the sun before slipping on a pair of sunglasses, "Story is that we need a ride west. We offer him big cash", John flashed a roll of bills, "he's a working man with a wife and a kid. He'll take it, no doubt".

So the men settled in to wait for their ride. But the sun was getting high and John temper was growing short, as it always did.

"What is your problem, John? Never had to wait before? The big bads of this world usually come knocking on your door asking for mercy?" Jefferson pushed.

John glared through tinted lenses. He had spent the last twenty two years waiting. Today was no different. Aside from the fact that his world centered around two boys and a mission and he seemed to be failing both. And that had John Winchester on edge.

"I've got no problem", John stated matter of factly. "Just getting hot", he fanned his jacket for effect.

"How can you be hot? It's fifty degrees out here", Jefferson started to laugh, "Or is old lady Winchester getting a hot flash?"

John didn't even respond, just rocked on his heels and stared down the crowded street.

And it hit Jefferson. He realized what was going on and the man in him who had watched Sam and Dean as children and taught them to avoid Hoodoo at all costs, jumped in him and started him toward John. He stepped into John's personal space and confronted him.

"You didn't call those boys, did you?" He accused.

"It's not your place to ask old man", John stayed calm as he laid it out.

Jefferson saw red. "You're dragging my ass out into the middle of nowhere Texas, I'm putting my life on the line to help you, and you want to tell me that expecting you to do what's necessary to keep your head in the game is none of my business?"

"Look, I will call the boys when this is all over. There is nothing I can do for them at that hospital. But here…here I can make their whole lives and everything they have been through count for more than scars and heartaches". John took his sunglasses off and looked Jefferson in the eyes, "I stay here and do this…I save them".

"What are you talking about 'save them' John", Jefferson demanded.

John slipped his sunglasses back on and stared down the street. "Nothing".

"No. Not nothing. You tell me or you call those boys. One or the other", Jefferson poked John on the chest. "You got five minutes to make your decision and then I walk".

John listened and weighed his options. Dwight and Josh were back at the house with Aileen and could handle anything that they came up against, but he knew he couldn't take the demon and Tate on his own. And he wouldn't go through Sam and Dean's plight again. So he hesitantly pulled his phone from his pocket and hit three on the speed dial.

* * *

The conflict was over, but the tension could still be felt in Dean's room. Tension that rose from lack of communication, lack of information.

"Weh eh he Sam (Where is he Sam)?" Dean asked.

Sam sat in the chair next to the bed, his head bowed, eyes locked on the floor below him. "I don't know. He talked to Bobby a few days ago. Told him he couldn't get away that he was close", Sam looked up at Dean, "I've called a few times but I can't get a hold of him".

"Shit", Dean pronounced the word perfectly. "So wah do we do nah (so what do we do now)?"

"I keep calling him. I find out who else he's with and call them", Sam stared at Dean to impart how serious he really was, "And you stay calm. Don't' worry about all of this. I'll find Dad".

Dean had trouble with the idea of letting Sam handle this. He had gone for his brother a year ago and it took them the span of that year to find their father. How was Sam going to find him alone, in days?

And just as Dean was ready to speak up and offer help he couldn't provide, Sam's phone came to life, ringing and buzzing in his pocket. When he lifted it out and read the screen he felt his heart thump. He looked up at Dean and put the phone to his ear.

"Dad?"

"Yeah Sam. It's me", the elder Winchesters rough voice came across the line clearly.

"Where are you Dad? We've been looking for you again. Are you alright?" Sam's brain was moving faster than his mouth.

"I'm okay Sammy. I'm in San Antonio with Jefferson. We found the demon Sam. It's coming tonight for a man your age. We're going to get it Sam".

"Dad maybe you should just come back. We can wait until Dean's better and go after it together", Sam plead.

"How is Dean doing Sam?" John asked calmly.

Sam looked at Dean who has been staring, open mouthed the whole time, trying to listen in and understand what was going on.

"He's doing okay. They put a stint in to drain the fluid and it's working. His vision is coming back and he's working with the therapist on the paralysis. They say with work he'll be back to normal", Sam stopped there. "But we need you here too Dad".

"I know Sammy, and I'll be there as soon as this is done. But I want to thank you".

"For what?" Sam was lost on his father's sentiment.

"What you're doing. You don't' have to take care of your brother the way you do. But you're doing it. He's lucky you care enough. He could be a lot worse off if you weren't looking out for him", John stammered. "When I wasn't".

"Dad…" Sam started.

"No, Sammy. When he got out of the hospital you had your eye on him. I saw the same thing you saw. I saw him suffering. Difference is, you took notice and took care of him while I ignored what was going on". John stopped to steady himself, regain his composure and not come apart standing in the street. "Thank you for keeping your brother alive Sam".

Sam smiled, warmth spreading across his face, blood rising to the surface and blossoming across his cheeks and nose. "It's what you taught us to do Dad", was all Sam could force out.

"Is he awake? Can I talk to him?" John asked.

"Yeah, Dad, yeah".

"I love you son", John confessed.

"I love you too Dad. Here's Dean". Sam handed Dean his cell phone. "Dad wants to talk to you. Just go slow and concentrate on what you're saying. He'll understand you".

Dean hesitantly took the phone as Sam gestured that he would wait outside. He concentrated and focused on speaking as clearly as possible.

"Dah (Dad)?" He began.

"Hey Dean", a smile broke across John's face, driven by the relief of hearing his boys voice over the phone. "I'm…I'm sorry I'm not there son. I know you wanted me there, but I'm so close now Dean. Jefferson and I are gonna get this thing tonight".

"Ah you sur dah? You can way. We ca get ehh to get her. I be fi soon (Are you sure dad? You can wait. We can get it together. I'll be fine soon)". Dean did his best to make his father understand.

"No Dean, it can't wait. I know you want to help, but I need you concentrating on getting better right now. I have something more important I need for you to handle."

"Wah dah (What dad)?" He asked.

"I know your not up to snuff yet, but I need you to listen to me and promise you'll help me. I need you to promise that what we talk about won't pass your lips. To anyone. Especially not your brother", John preached.

"I pomise", Dean listened carefully, wanting to do whatever he could to help his family.

John walked away from the crowds, his eyes sweeping the streets. He stopped on the side of a building and squatted down, one hand over his head. "I love you for what you have done for your brother and I all these years. I've never told you what it means to me that you stuck by me all this time, that you were the glue that held this family together. But all these little things you've done over the years, making sure Sam got his education, making sure I didn't slip into the abyss when you boys were small. It's more than anyone could have expected you to do. And it makes what I'm going to ask you now, so much harder".

"Can be dat har dah. Jus as. I do wah you whan. Is my ja (Can't be that hard Dad. Just ask. I'll do what you want. It's my job)", Dean offered.

"All of this…the demon, the psychics, the other children. It's all leading up to something big Dean. Now if I don't' make it out of this fight, I need you to promise me you'll take care of Sam. I need you to promise that you'll save him", John asked.

"Save him?" Dean didn't understand.

"You have to save him Dean. And if you can't, you have to kill him", John was cold and clear o n the point.

"Dah, I doan unner san (Dad, I don't understand)", Dean's eyes were shinning with unshed tears and his heart started to race a little faster.

"Promise me Dean", John asked.

"I pomise Dah (I promise Dad)", Dean mumbled.

"Thank you Dean. I don't want you to have to make good on that promise, but it makes my job easier knowing you've got my back on this one", John talked to Dean like he was a hunter, not some boy stuck in a hospital bed. John saw the cab come around the corner and pull to a stop. "I've got to go now. I love you Dean".

"Yeah Dah, luh you (Yeah Dad, love you)". Dean ended the call and dropped the phone on the bed next to him. His mind started to reel. He couldn't wrap his brain around what his father just told him. What he had asked him to do. It was like asking a mother to kill her own child. He tried to push the conversation out of his mind, forget what had just transpired, but he couldn't. His heart start to race and his head started to pound. His heart monitor started beeping, alerting Sam just outside the door.

Sam burst through the door and slid across the floor to get to Dean. He punched the call button on the bed and started screaming, "Help! I need help in here! Help!"

He put a hand on Dean's chest and begged him to calm down. "Dean, calm down. Take a breath, man. Come on, don't this Dean. Just relax and breathe for me", he pled.

But Dean was beyond breathing and relaxing. He couldn't control anything and as the doctors and nurses came through the door Dean's eyes rolled back and he passed out. Sam was shoved out of the way as the staff moved to revive Dean and assess the situation.

"What the hell did Dad do?" Sam asked the question knowing no one would hear him and that he would probably never get an answer.

**Love it? Hate it? Tell me, tell me, tell me!! And are we sure I can't kill Dean…I mean Kripke killed Sam (not that I believe he's really dead…and I don't' want to see some twisted version of that old show 'Highway To Heaven'…but wasn't that last moment just…guh! Oh…and did anyone cry? I didn't…I have seen the episode twice and I just have no feelings about it…I did however shed a few tears when Deanie got attacked by the genie….that was sad…but Sam's death just doesn't do anything to me…am I heartless??) Rambling…sorry!**


	15. Down and Out

**Hello! Okay…this one is not too short, not too long. It's a lot of set up for what's coming next, but we've got hurt Dean and angsty Sam in here!!**

**I knew it took awhile, but I promise it was worth the wait! And chp 16 should go up tomorrow night if not Saturday morning. I'm working on it tonite and It's getting long, but sooo good!!**

**I hope some of you are still reading! And please…review! It makes me happy and I am then prolific…writing till my hands hurt…so review and I will reward you with more story. Deal??**

**Love you guys – You Rock My Sox!!**

"Lubbock", John told the boy behind the wheel and waved a wad of cash in the air, "And I'm willing to pay you well to get us there".

Tate Oakston sat in the cramped front seat of his 99' Crown Victoria and looked at the money the man held in his hand. Aileen wouldn't mind him making the drive if she knew how much money he could make on the one run.

"Okay", he smiled at his new passengers, "You've got a ride".

John tapped the hood of the car and flashed a smile. Waving Jefferson over, he slipped into the car and settled in for what he was sure would be the longest night of his life.

"So, mind me asking what's in Lubbock?" Tate spoke up.

John was always surprised by the forwardness and slow charm a southern upbringing afforded a person. "Just some business we've got to handle tonight", John brushed him off slightly.

"Well, Lubbock's a good three hundred and fifty miles, so get comfortable", Tate instructed as he checked his mirrors and pulled onto the street. "You fellas just let me know if you want to make a stop".

"Will do", slipped past Jefferson's lips as he watched John. You could almost feel sadness and desperation in the air. He could see the weight of whatever had transpired between this man and his sons, draped across his shoulders.

* * *

The room was dark and cool. The curtains had been pulled and the lights were out. The only audible sounds were coming from Dean's heart monitor and the oxygen pump. Sam kept vigil at his brothers bedside, aware of every sound he made, every shift of his body. A blood pressure monitor was clamped down over his finger not far from the IV that was lodged in his hand. The damn cannula was back under his nose providing his brain and body with the necessary oxygen. And the heart monitor. It was still there, beeping, announcing Dean's will to live.

Three nurses had come into the room, hours before, to find Dean passed out, heart beating wildly, blood pressure through the roof. Naylor got called down and the look he gave Sam made him fear he'd be asked to leave. But he hadn't been. Naylor talked to Dean, asked him questions, tested his function, then sedated him and pulled Sam out of the room to have a word. He'd been kind, but straight forward.

_Your brother is under a lot more stress than he can handle right now,_ he'd said. The white coat had told him, _We're going to take him to radiology for another scan and the nurses are going to run his blood work again_. He had promised to send in an ophthalmologist to take a look at Dean's eyes.

He'd questioned Sam about what had been upsetting Dean so much. _As though it was his business_. Then he'd asked Sam to try and keep his brother calm. _I don't want to have to ask you to leave, but I don't think you're helping your brother here. _Naylor told Sam that visiting hours would become restricted and Dean would only be allowed one visitor at a time. But that was when Sam had stood tall and put his foot down. _Under no circumstances am I leaving him here alone for any amount of time. And I want you to look at me and understand that nothing I am doing now or have done in the past was meant to hurt him or make any of this harder on him._

It had been hours since they sedated Dean, but it felt like days. Each second ticking away on the clock, the tiny arm on the time piece taking an eternity to move, time slowing, Sam was in agony. He was drifting. He was a solid being on a solid plane, but he was weightless and floating through something he couldn't grasp. _What the hell happened?_

He looked at Dean's sleeping form and wanted to take him and leave and find John and kill the damn demon and erase all of this from their lives. He was getting desperate and scared again, like he had been the morning they were pulled from the wreckage. He wished he had a power that was more useful than one that pained him physically and showed him the horrific deaths of others. He wanted the power to heal. To heal Dean's wounds, to heal their hearts. But for now he'd have to settle for being by Dean's side and resolving to find Dad when this was all over.

Dean shifted as the sedative began to wear off, hovering near consciousness, but refusing to rejoin the waking world.

"You really have to stop doing this, ya know?" Sam spoke softly into the quiet of the room. "Getting worked up and tweaking the heart monitor…scaring the doctors", Sam took a deep breath. "Scaring me. You're killing me with this, man". He stared at Dean, looking for a sign to say he heard what was said, understood Sam's veiled plea. But nothing.

Dean looked so different now than he had only a few weeks ago. His hair was little more than fuzz and his cheeks were hollowed out. Dean hadn't really eaten in weeks and he had no physical activity, save for the slow trips to the bathroom, and even then Sam did most of the work. His diet consisted of milkshakes and firm jello and soft french fries. He had lost weight and muscle mass. He looked small. Sam never saw Dean as small, even though he had a good three inches on him. He was always larger than life, cocky as hell, kicking ass and taking names. But now he seemed so different.

Sitting in that awful chair, in that awful room, living in this awful situation, Sam had been fighting it. Fighting the need to reach out and touch and feel the life in his brother. He'd sat for hours and watch Dean's chest rise and fall, listening to the heart monitor beep out a steady, monotone tune. But now, with the late afternoon sun cutting through the second story window, Sam couldn't fight it anymore. _Bitchings and protestations be damned._

So he eased his chair closer, close enough to offer access to the sleeping form in front of him. In the last few days he had laid his hand on Dean's chest countless times, paw like hand with fingers spread wide across his sternum. He offered his own calm to his brother, giving Dean what he had to comfort him, the thump of his own pulse and the warmth from his body. But now a hand on the chest didn't seem to be enough. He studied his sibling's face and noticed, for the hundredth time, all of the tiny nicks and the now pronounced age lines. He took note of how chapped Dean's lips were and the way his chin jutted out, one day's worth of stubble littering his skin. Sam saw everything in that pale skin and pink lips. His family, his home, his purpose in life, and the genuine gift of being here on this earth with this man.

Of it's own accord, perhaps driven by the beat of Sam's heart, his hand reached out and brushed Dean's cheek, feeling the warmth of the battered man. For a moment he was afraid Dean would come to and realize what was going on, but he feared not knowing the touch more than the repercussion of taking it. So he stood, hand moving across Dean's sharp features, thumb brushing over his nose and along the cleft in his chin, silently praying that his brother be okay. That nothing else cross his path and overcome his weary body.

But Naylor was down the hall, moving slowly toward room 264, not at all interested in delivering the news he had. No, he had not seen this coming. Dean's case had seemed cut and dry. Maybe a few side affects that he could easily work through and the chance of lost vision, but this…this he hadn't planned on. And he was sure the brothers hadn't planned on it either.

* * *

The entire state of Texas was under construction as far as John could tell. They drove non-stop, 'now entering construction zone' signs popping up every few miles, blending the 'zones' together. But as the sun rose higher then started to come back down the desert started to appear. It was warm and dusty, like an old cowboy movie, the car kicking up dust in the street.

"So, you gentlemen aren't from Texas are you?" Tate asked in an effort to beak the awkward silence.

"No, not really", Jefferson replied.

"I can always tell, ya know?" Tate tossed his head back to make a point. "Folks from Texas carry themselves different. Kinda like you", he craned his neck to look at Jefferson. "I'd put money on you being a coonass from somewhere in southeast Louisiana".

Jefferson cocked an eyebrow just a little surprised. "Accent gave it away, right?"

"No, it's something to do with the way you moved so slowly getting in the cab, but with fervor. And you're talking to me. You don't know me from Adam, but you're willing to talk to me…that's Southern", again Tate tossed his head in John's direction. "Not like him".

"What about 'him' ", John asked tartly.

"That right there. You don't want to talk, you haven't taken those sunglasses off since we started rolling, and you uh…well, you lack the charm".

John gave a soft growl, he wasn't accustomed to anyone talking to him with anything but respect.

"Let me guess…Yankee? Mid-West? Where you from?" Tate pushed.

"Kansas", John stated flatly.

"Well, no one here will hold that against you", Tate offered cheerfully.

Jefferson laughed out loud, but John really didn't find it funny. He was driving into the desert in the middle of nowhere to save this kids life and he was harassing him about where he was from.

All of the construction was behind them and nothing but desert in front of them. So that's when the car gave a jerk started to sputter.

"Shit", Tate hissed under his breath.

John sat forward, leaning over the back of the passenger seat. "What's going on?"

"Don't know. Power steering is gone, the things heating up, check engine lights on", Tate rambled out what he could see from the drivers seat. "Hold on".

He steered the car to the side of the barren road and shut the engine off. He reached down and releases the hood latch. "Just gonna check it out", he explained as he got out of the car. He lifted the hood and disappeared behind it.

He'd only been gone from John's sight for ten minutes when John had enough waiting. Puling the sunglasses off of his face he told Jefferson that he was going to check on the boy.

"No, no. I think you have made enough friends for today", he held John by the arm, keeping him from exiting the vehicle. "I'll check it out".

Jefferson liked to think of himself as a patient man. Sure he had his moments of anger, but nothing close to what a Winchester could dispense. So it was only logical that he talk to the young man in their protection, knowing John would frighten or kill him, making the job obsolete.

"Hey", Jefferson stepped around the front end and peered down at the man leaning into the engine, "Find the problem?"

Tate let out a soft chuckle that immediately put Jefferson on alert. "You could say that", he mumbled without looking up.

"Well, what is it? Is there anything I can do to help you?" He offered.

"Oh, you've done more than enough old man", a cruel laugh passes Tate's lips as he stood upright and turned to look at his passenger.

When their eyes met across the engine block Jefferson saw something he'd never seen, but had heard about. His eyes glowed an eerie shade of yellow and while he looked in Jefferson's direction, he didn't look like he was really focusing on him.

"You", Jefferson gasped. He reached back into the waistband of his jeans, placing his hand on the glock that rested there. "We were just out here looking for you, you evil bastard".

"Well", the possessed man took a step forward and raised an eyebrow in time, "Looks like I found you first".

Then without hesitation or warning, Tate's possessed body lunged at Jefferson. The glock came out of it's hiding as quickly as the demon moved. Jefferson took a step back and held the firearm up to the bastards face, "Don't make me do this", he argued.

"Don't make you do what? You wouldn't hurt this poor boy. He's just like your brother", the demon paced slowly toward the hunter. "Messed in with the wrong crowd, life hanging in a demon's control", the vile thing sneered, "And no one around to clean up after him".

"You really are a son of a bitch", Jefferson hissed as he tightened his grip on the gun.

The demon laughed and cocked his head toward the sun, looking thoughtful. "Tell me, where were you when your brother was so desperate for help and so alone that he had to turn to us?"

"That is none of your damned business you jack ass. You're not getting in my head, either. I know exactly what you're doing", he bit off.

"Is that right?" slipped past Tate's lips before the demon lunged forward and stole the glock from the hunters grasp. He held it up to the older man's chest and let out another evil chuckle. He shot a sidelong glance to John sitting in the car, hood obstructing his view, "Thanks for the help getting him here".

Then Jefferson's world went black. His head met the butt of the glock with astonishing force, throwing him into the raised hood of the Ford, hard enough to bring it down.

John sat up straight as a board when the hood slammed closed, his friend strewn across it. He got out of the car and walked around the front, seeing nothing else.

"Jeff? Jeff?" He shook the man's shoulders but earned no response.

"He's a little busy, won't be bothering us now". Tate's voice carried from behind John, spinning him around to face the thing that had ruined his life and the lives of his children.

"You son of a bitch", John belted. He reached back, placing a firm grasp on the colt. "We're done doing this dance you and I". He pulled the weapon and pointed it at the demon.

The borrowed body took a step back and chuckled a bit, hands rising in a show of compliance. "I think there's something you and I need to talk about before you make any hasty moves John". The demon drew out his name like a song.

"What the hell so we have to discuss, you god forsaken bastard?" John questioned.

"Your son's".

* * *

The knock on the door startled Sam. He looked to the door then back down at Dean's peaceful expression before surrendering to the person behind the door.

"Come in", Sam spoke as he sat back down in the uncomfortable chair.

Naylor came in quietly, knowing Dean would probably still be asleep. He stopped at the bed and looked over the machines and printouts before he turned to Sam. He offered his hand and when the young man shook it he stared him in the eye, "We need to talk".

Sam looked into Naylor's eyes and knew this wasn't a conversation either of them would want to be having, but followed the man's lead.

He stood and gestured to the door. "Okay, yeah. Outside though, I don't want to wake him".

Both men headed for the door, Naylor first with Sam in tow. But Sam stopped at the threshold and looked back at Dean, feeling very vulnerable. "Don't go anywhere, brother. I'll be right back", he whispered, then stepped into the hallway to face whatever was to come next.

**Okay…you hate me right? I am loving this cliff hanger thing!! You'll come back tomorrow and read, right? Got to find out what Dean's malfunction is!! I hope you are all enjoying it and I really do appreciate the reviews and suggestions…you can always tell me what you want to hear (yeah Heather…hurt Dean…got it…just you wait!)**

**Keep rocking my sox guys!!**


	16. Another Step

**Hello faithful readers!! I'm sorry this is a day late! You see…up to this point all of the brain surgeries and things were something I had first hand experience of with my brother Ben, but this is the first twist that I didn't know anything about so I had to research it!**

**Okay…I shot for hurtDean, angstySam, and oh-so-frustratingJohn. Hope I got it right!!**

**Read read read!! And believe me there is more of this to come. No promises on a posting date…just a promise that there is more! Please review…and yeah…no cliffe here…'give the readers what they want' my editor at work always says. ENJOY!**

"Maybe you should sit down", Naylor looked hesitant as he pointed to the chair Sam had dragged in front of Dean's room after their argument.

Sam looked down at the chair, his mind processing the situation and the suggestion and suddenly identifying Naylor and the chair as enemies.

He threw his shoulders back, pushed his chin up in the air, and stood as tall as he could. He was trying to convey the idea that he was in control and could handle anything that was coming. "No, no thanks, I'll stand", he stuttered.

"Okay", Naylor dropped Dean's file onto the empty seat and planted his feet firmly on the floor, shoulder width apart, and started talking.

Sam heard everything the doctor said, he took every word and examined and cataloged it. Patients, doctors, loved ones, nurses…they were all around. They didn't move, though. It was as though the walls and floors moved for them, the weight of things too much for limbs to move.

"You have got to be kidding me", Sam announced incredulously as he slid to the floor and took his head in his hands.

Naylor was looking down on him. He could feel the eyes boring into the top of his skull. "I'm sorry Sam. I really am". He hesitated for a moment, unsure how to continue from this point. "I'll give you some time to tell him and talk about it". With those words he picked up the discarded file and started to walk away.

"No", Sam stood quickly, raising a hand and pointing to Dean's door. "No. You go in there and you wake him up and you tell him. Cause I'm not going to do it". Sam's throat was working, holding the defeated cries in. His eye lashes were heavy with unshed tears. "I can't do this to him anymore".

"It's not a death sentence Sam", Naylor injected, "He still has options".

Sam looked at Naylor like the man had just offered a drowning man a glass of water. "Just…just come back when he's awake and tell him", Sam started walking down the hall and called back, "I'm done Naylor".

* * *

He punched both buttons in front of the lift and waited. He shifted his weight from his left to his right leg. He couldn't stand still. The tears that he refused to cry, _because Dean wouldn't have it_, blurred his vision and made the awful print on the wallpaper swim. When the elevator finally came to a stop on the second floor, the bell rang and the doors swung open. _Empty. Thank God_. He stepped in and hit the last number on the wall and stood back. It was only a matter of seconds before a litany of _fuckfuckfucknotfairfuckfuckfuck_ came shooting out of his mouth. He rode it to the top. He didn't have control of what he was doing anymore. He got out of the metal box and walked to the door marked fire escape. He took the stairs and climbed to the roof. He had no jacket on, just a couple of shirts, and the air was freezing, snow melting on the ground below. He paced, not feeling the cold, but feeling his heart breaking again as the world took yet another pot shot at the Winchesters. He walked to the edge and looked at the world below, all cars and melting snow and flashing lights. He dialed his father's number, but never got an answer. He paced up there for what had to be two hours, before he started to stumble because he couldn't feel his toes anymore. So he went back into the hospital reluctantly. He went to the cafeteria first and purchased two cups of black coffee, walking them slowly back to room 264 on the second floor, pushing the door open with his backside.

"Weh duh heh ha you bea (Where the hell have you been)?" Dean demanded.

"Relax", Sam countered as he turned around and dropped a straw on the table in front of Dean followed by one of the coffees, "I just went for a walk".

Dean looked at Sam the way he had every time the boy had come home in the last eighteen years. He scanned the length of his body for blood or bruises, but didn't find any. Sam gave him a wide-eyed look and shuffled to empty chair. That's when Dean noticed his brother's awkward gait and the flush of his skin.

"Wus ron wif you (Whats wrong with you)?" He questioned.

"Nothing", Sam mumbled as he sat back and lifted the coffee to his mouth. "I went for a walk outside and I'm just cold", as though there were nothing else between the brothers to discuss. "Did Naylor come by?"

Dean huffed, trying to let go of the control he needed over Sam when he felt something was off. "Yea. He gone caa ba weh you her (Yeah, He's going to come back when you are here)", Dean explained as he worked the straw out of the paper wrapper and slowly into the cup.

Sam almost dropped his coffee. "He was supposed to come while I was out".

"He whan to te me some fin so I ass him to wai till you gah back (he wanted to tell me something so I asked him to wait till you came back)", Dean clarified.

_This is not how this is supposed to go down. I don't want to see this. I don't want to watch him go through this_.

"Oh…okay", Sam mumbled.

"You kay?" Dean asked, concerned by Sam's demeanor.

"Yeah, I'm good".

* * *

It was silent for a few minutes, Dean carefully sipping hot coffee through a straw while Sam cradled his cup, warming his hands.

Then Naylor came in.

"How you doing there without your drain, Dean?" He asked to break the ice.

"Wah?"

"We took the catheter off when we came in earlier. The fluid wasn't draining anymore, which leads me to believe the stint has done all it can for you", He explained.

Sam wouldn't look at either of them.

"So are you ready to talk now that your brother is here?" Naylor asked Dean.

Dean looked at Sam, "Yea".

"Okay", Naylor stood at the end of the bed, arms crossing his chest. "I think what we've run into is some hemorrhaging. A brain bleed to be exact".

Dean squirmed and eyed his brother, whose knees were bobbing as he chewed his nails, listening to Naylor speak coldly.

"Now, it could be caused by any number of things. It's usually hypertension that is aggravated by injury to a major organ, such as the trauma your kidney suffered. Or it can be goaded by surgical procedures or stress. All of these are viable in your case".

"Wus gone ha en (What's going to happen)?" Dean pressed.

"Well, I'm afraid there are as many causes as there are affects", Naylor became clinical. He always did when it got hard. "Your vision may be at its peak and you may be left with the pain for the duration of your life", Naylor spoke.

"Wah else (what else)?" Dean pushed.

Naylor stepped back and looked at Sam then back to Dean. "If we can't get the bleeder under control quickly…then your odds of survival drop drastically".

Sam huffed in the corner, pacing back and forth, running a hand through his hair. Dean looked him and tried to keep it together.

"So wah? Sury? Wah do we do (So what? Surgery? What do we do)?"

"First thing we're going to do is make sure this is what we are actually dealing with. All of the symptoms point to a hemorrhage, but we'll have to do a lumbar puncture to make sure. Then once we're sure we'll start a round of drugs that should help, combined with a lot of rest and complete calm".

"Okay", Dean stuttered. He knew a spinal tap would hurt, but he wasn't going to give into fear now.

"Well then", Naylor looked almost pleased. "I'll be back soon and we'll get started", then he turned and left the room without another word.

Dean looked at his baby brother who wouldn't look him in the eye. "You okay?" Dean asked.

Sam thumbed at the hem of his shirt. "No", he whispered as he looked his brother in the eye, "It's enough, man. How can you keep doing this?"

Dean felt for Sam what Sam had felt for him all along. "Lie I say for. We jus tae te nes step (Like I said before. We just take the next step)."

"Okay", Sam conceded in a broken tone.

* * *

"This is between you and I", John told the demon.

"Oh, I don't think so". The demon sneered and gave John a knowing look. "We both know the truth about little Sammy", he chuckled. "And Dean. With his unrelenting desire to take care of his baby brother and protect him from the evil of the world".

"And what does any of that have to do with us", John gestured a hand between the two of them.

"Well, I happen to know that Dean is as good as dead. And once he's gone, who is going to stand between Sam and the boogie man?" He questioned.

"You think I'm an idiot? Dean's a little beaten down right now, but he's going to be fine", John countered.

"That what you think?" Then the demons stepped closer to John, invading his personal space, and closing the distance between himself and the barrel of the gun. "Maybe if you were a better father and you called your sons you'd know that's not the story. Poor Dean's got a fight ahead of him. One I happen to know he's not going to win". He was close enough to smell the coffee on John's breath. "But like I said, you'd know that if you were a better father".

"Fuck you", John spat.

"Thanks for the offer Winchester, but really, you're not my type". He studied John then made an offer. "Go ahead, call your son. Ask him for the truth", Tate's arms rose above his head, "I'll be a good boy".

John held the gun steady and pulled his phone from his jacket. He called information and asked to be connected. He gave Dean's alias and asked to speak to the physician in charge. He wanted to hear the absolute truth, not some watered down version Sam would give him to protect Dean.

The demon listened carefully and smiled as John went pallid. "I understand", he mumbled. And, "No, please don't tell him I called". Then he thanked the doctor and hung up. He looked at the phone for a moment then back at the demon. "Okay", he started. "What do you want?"

Now the demon was circling John in a predatory fashion that made him sweat just a little. "Think about it Winchester. You've been doing this a long time. How do these things usually go down".

John nodded his head, knowing exactly what the demon was eluding to.

* * *

Sam was sitting Indian style on the end of Dean's bed, sharing much more personal space than they had since they were children. That was how Naylor and his two nurses found the brothers when they came in. Silently sharing a small space and each others strength.

"Okay boys", Naylor began, "Are we ready?"

Sam squeezed the Dean's foot. "Yeah. M'ready (Yeah. I'm ready)", Dean spoke.

"Okay. First thing we need to do is take your shirt off and lay on your side", Naylor instructed, and Sam helped Dean to remove the think cotton barrier and roll on his side. The nurses stood by, not wanting to interrupt the brothers.

"Now I want you to pull your knees up to your chest and keep them there, okay?" Naylor requested, then watched Sam help Dean pull his lifeless leg up to his chest with the other and encouraged him to hold them there without moving. Dean remained silent.

Naylor stood in front of Dean and gave it to him straight. "I'm not going to sugar coat this or lie to you about anything. This is going to hurt. But you have to stay still and not move until we tell you to, and even then we're going ot try and do it for you, okay?"

Dean didn't speak, only nodded in agreement.

Naylor disappeared behind Dean and Sam stood against the wall. The good doctor draped a cloth over Dean's back and using a needle gave Dean a shot that would numb him skin deep. He didn't move, just took it in stride. But it was about to get worse.

"Here we go", Naylor strung out. "He took a long needle and started to push it into Dean's back. When it reached beyond the point of the anesthetic he hissed. Naylor kept pushing, waiting for the telling popping noise. But he never heard it so he pulled the needle back only skin deep.

"Okay Dean, we didn't get it, so we're gonna try again, alright?"

'What am I gonna do, say no?' He wondered to himself. He must have looked as pained as he felt, because Sam come to his side quickly.

"Hey", Sam begged his brothers attention and held his gaze. "I know it's bad man, but it's just another step, right?"

"Mmmm", Dean mumbled.

"Come on", Sam urged, "Take my arm".

Dean reached over and grabbed His brother's forearm and Sam did the same. "Now you squeeze or pull or do whatever you need to do, man".

Sam stared his brother in the face and didn't look away for a second. Naylor started again, pushing the needle deep and searching for the pop that would tell him he was going in the right direction.

"Hurse Sam eehh (Hurts Sammy)" Dean finally spoke, even if it was a whimper.

"I know, I know man. Just a little bit more, huh? You got this, remember…just one more step", Sam was fighting tears and holding tight to his big brother.

Naylor heard the distinct pop and saw the fluid fill the tubing. He quickly changed tubes, filling three with spinal fluid, before slowly removing the needle and looking up to speak to the brothers. "I can tell you now that it is a bleed. The spinal fluid is coming back pink which lets me know that there is blood present. So right now we're going to take what we've removed and run some other tests, and Dean, I want you to lie down flat on your back and not move. After we run he tests we'll start you on some medication to combat the bleeder. We're going to give you something for pain and I don't want you to move for the next twenty four hours at least". And with that Naylor walked away.

Dean hadn't heard anything from the time of the pop till now. Sam spoke to him, trying to reality. "Hey, Dean, listen to me man. Can you hear me?" Dean wasn't answering, but breathing sharply as a fine sheen of sweat danced across his brow. "We gotta lay you flat on your back. Can you help me?" Sam asked. And apparently Dean heard, because he shifted and allowed his brother to help him lay down. "You're gonna have to stay here like this for twenty four hours Dean. But don't worry, the doc is going to get you something for the pain". He reassured his sibling.

"Beeder (Bleeder)?" Dean rasped.

"Yeah Dean. Naylor said there's blood in the spinal fluid so it's definitely a bleeder. But don't worry. We're going to take care of it". Sam looked down and started rubbing his face.

"You kay?" Dean asked Sam.

"Yeah. I'm okay. Just want to make sure they get you something for pain and get the ball rolling on your treatment".

Dean tapped his arm in a show of support. "Doan urry (Don't worry)" he told his baby brother.

**So….love it, hate it…tell me tell me!! I really appreciate all of the reviews! Keep them coming and I promise I'll get the chapters out faster! You guys continue to rock my sox!! Happy Memorial Day!**


	17. They Didn't Know He Knew

**Not gonna delay you getting to the story…here it is. Read slowly…savor the warmth and goodness (honestly I don't know where I come up with this stuff).**

He stared at yellow eyes and remembered the gleam of green and hazel ones: the reasons he was here in the first place.

Borrowed lips curled and stolen eyes danced as the demon spoke, "What do you say Johnny boy?"

"I want to see my boys before you and I do this", John stared at the evil that stood before him and bartered with it. Heart thumping, pulse racing.

"If that's what it takes to make this happen, I can agree to a little…family reunion", he smiled. "But you give me the gun first", Tate laid an open hand in front of the hunter.

John considered things, let the current state of affairs and circumstances play across his mind, weighing his options _as though he had any_. And when his mind settled and he chose an ending, what clinched the deal was the idea of saving his sons. And that thought alone moved his thumb to click back the hammer on the colt as turned the handle of the weapon to the possessed man in front of him.

"Thirty-six hours", he smiled as he palmed the weapon. "Love em', lie to em', hell rock em' like babies for all I care. But when that clock ticks it's last", the demon hesitated in order to make his point, then allowed himself a maniacal laugh, "Then you're mine cowboy".

"Thirty-six hours and you stay the hell away from me and my sons", John confirmed.

Tate didn't speak or even meet John's eyes, just walked back to the cab and climbed behind the wheel. The engine turned over and the car flew in reverse before spinning around and careening down the highway.

John took a moment, just a moment, and collected himself. He felt the weight of the deal he had just made and it was a lot for one man to carry. _But come on. He was John Winchester_.

He was drawn out of his cloud when he heard the muffled struggle of Jefferson on the ground at his feet. He dropped to his knees and raised the man's head and shoulders.

"Jeff? Can you hear me?" He was yelling in the hunters face, hoping he would come back to him.

"Course I can hear you Winchester", he leaned forward and rubbed his head where the gun had struck him, "all you do is run off at the mouth".

John helped his friend to sit up, then pulled the phone from his pocket. He called Joshua's cell phone and breathed a sigh of relief when the man answered.

"Yeah, it showed. But it possessed Oakston and did some damage before it took off. You guys doing alright?" John went on.

"Ehh, I guess we're okay. Been sitting behind this damn well for hours and Dwight's been I dunno…praying", Joshua elaborated.

"Praying?" John questioned, no hunter was ever completely familiar with the practices and rituals of another.

"Yeah", Joshua sounded off, "that weird catholic shit. Got a rosary and everything".

"Okay, just keep your heads down for now. I don't think he'll show up back there, but if you see Tate you don't let him near that family".

He kept it short, offering no details of the attack, and ended the call before dialing four-one-one.

When he flipped the phone closed, Jefferson was looking up at him from the pavement, asking questions John refused to answer. 'What happened after he knocked me out? You got the gun? Where did he go? What are we going to do? Where are we going?' Thirty minutes later a green and white cab pulled up and carried the hunters away.

* * *

Sam sat on the floor against the wall, long legs crossed in front of him, turning his cell over again and again in his palm. It was the only movement he made, sure if he got up and moved that Dean would move too and Naylor wanted him flat on his back. It had been hours since the good doctor had been in to deal with Dean. He'd given the older hunter strong pain medication and spoken softly to Sam about blood thinners and anti-seizure medication and anti-convulsants. He told Sam about the chances of recovery and wanting to monitor Dean very closely. He had scared Sam shitless.

He looked at his phone and knew he should call someone. Anyone. Dean was in bad shape and things were getting worse. He hadn't showered in days and he needed a shave. The only thing he was eating anymore was coffee and the occasional packaged-crap something from the vending machine. His head was full of diagnoses, statistics, treatment options, drug names, nurse's names, Dean's name. He was losing it and he had no idea what to do or how to get a grip before everything slipped away. So he was doing the one thing he knew he could do…sitting on the floor watching his brother living.

* * *

Dean's eyes were closed but he wasn't asleep. Painkillers were running through his veins but they didn't provide the relief he really needed. They had assumed he was asleep. They had assumed that he couldn't hear them. But he heard and he knew. He heard every word and they awoke something in him that he had only felt twice before: fear. The simple words Sam and Naylor exchanged had instilled a fear in him that was more than that of any physical pain.

Minutes were turning into hours and things were growing hazy, edges blurring and running together. He tried to push past what he knew and remember before. Not the good times, because there really were no good times, just before. Before the demon possessed John, before he fell to the floor of a dingy cabin, before his baby was obliterated, before the edema and the kidney damage and the blindness. Before things slipped beyond his control. He wanted to escape to that life that he had loathed and loved for all it had cost him and shown him. He would give anything to have that life back now. But what he knew kept that from happening. All he had now was the pain and the inescapable truth.

* * *

Sam turned the phone up in his hand and started pushing buttons.

"Who ahh ou cah ing (Who are you calling)?" Dean questioned without opening his eyes or shifting his body.

"I thought you were asleep", Sam mumbled as he groped the phone.

"An I thaw ou err smar er dan dat (And I thought you were smarter than that)", Dean wittingly replied.

Sam chuckled a little, staring down the barrel of what their lives had become. "Yeah, I should have known you weren't actually out, you never really are".

"So ooh ah ou cah ing (So who are you calling)?" Dean pressed.

"Uh, Bobby", Sam ran a hand through his hair. "We haven't heard from him in a while so I thought we should give him a ring, ya know?"

Dean listened to Sam's voice carry up from ground level and knew his baby brother had at some point slumped to the floor under the weight of his problems, the strain of his voice assuring Dean that his boy was not alright. "Stan uhh (stand up)", he directed.

Years of training and conditioning had taught Sam to hear Dean's voice and just trust him and do what he was told. So he wasn't going to question his brother now, especially when he might be in pain or need some kind of physical contact or a visual connection. But Sam was way off today.

He pushed himself off of the floor and stood in front of the bed. Dean opened his eyes slowly and struggled to focus on his sibling. When his eyes gave him a gander good enough, he saw a disheveled, beaten down, exhausted Winchester in front of him.

"Go to a mow el an chow rer an seep. I doan wan ou ear ti tom ro ro (Go to a motel and shower and sleep. I don't want you here till tomorrow)", he instructed, all big brother and enforcer.

Sam opened his mouth to protest and demand he stay there with Dean, but his brother cut him off at the pass. "I cah Nay err an serurity. Doan make me doo eh (I'll call Naylor and security. Don't make me do it)" Dean threatened.

Sam knew he was serious, and god knew he was tired and hungry, so he complied. "Fine, but I'll be back at the crack of dawn", he warned. Then he started to leave the room, turning before he left to see Dean lying completely still with his eyes closed.

"An eaa reah foo too (And eat real food too)", he called out as Sam disappeared.

* * *

John Winchester slipped into Shiloh County Hospital, unrecognized and unbothered. He smiled that hundred watt smile that fooled everyone who didn't know him and charmed Dean's room number out of the brunette behind the desk.

The elevator deposited him on the second floor and he followed signs along the wall, leading him to the east wing that contained rooms 260-269. He smiled and nodded at the nurse on duty as he approached the door marked 264.

He slipped past the unassuming oak and stood quietly inside. He couldn't move and if you asked him to breathe he would tell you he couldn't remember how to. He just stared. The figure in the bed was not his child. When he left his sons Dean was lean and muscular, even if a little unwell. The pink had just returned to his young face and his eyes had danced at the sight of his family. But now Dean was a shell, on a bed, under a blanket, thriving on machines. John's stomach turned as his heart fell. He didn't move. Dean would wake at the slightest sound and smell his father, like a predatory animal tracking its prey. He simply stood and watched his boy for a moment, taking in all that was going on and cataloging it so it wouldn't appear to faze him later.

Then, as quickly as he appeared, The Winchester disappeared. He slipped out of the door, down the elevator, and out of the building. Now he had to find Sam. Years of watching his sons cultivate their relationship, he knew Dean would have sent Sam away to rest. So he hauled into his own unit and took off down the icy highway.

* * *

Sam checked into the Fort Cisco Motor Inn. He paid for a double, even if he would be the only occupant, yearning for some form of familiarity, even if it came in the form of a musty room with two beds instead of one. He tumbled into the moldy shower, so tired he moved like a drunk. He held on to the curtain rod for stability and showered, water as hot as he could get it, and washed the hospital and the bad coffee and the bad news off of his skin as best he could. When he stood in front of the mirror and shaved the thick stubble from his soft skin he realized he didn't recognize the man looking back at him from the glass. Sure, he was tall with dark hair and brooding eyes, but he looked older and tired and shell shocked. _Is this the guy I'm going to be when he's gone?_

He slipped into a dark pair of jeans and a thermal shirt Dean had insisted he buy at some point. 'Since you were a kid I've worried your not warm enough. Just buy it and wear the damn thing, Sam. He shoved his dirty clothes into his bag, not bothering to separate them from the clean and put the same socks back on. The effort all of his actions expended was alarming. He felt completely drained as he fell onto the lumpy mattress.

_What were Dean's instructions? Right…shower, eat, sleep_. He found a flyer for a local pizza joint on the nightstand and dialed the number absentmindedly. He ordered a plain cheese pizza and a bottle of soda and hung up without exchanging pleasantries. He leaned back against the pillows and drew in a deep breath before blowing it out slowly, eyes focused in front of him as though he could see the oxygen leaving his body.

He went over the details and options again. He calculated the time it would encompass, leaving the brothers tethered to one place for the longest Sam could remember since high school. He could find a cheap loft on the dicier side of town and a part time job flipping burgers or selling shoes. He could work nights and spend days with Dean, doing whatever he needed Sam to do for him. _Hold his hand, shave his face, chase away the demons._ Hunting down the demon and finding Dad again would be put on hold. Life would be put on hold.

Sam tried to focus on how he would take care of Dean, not how Dean needed to be taken care of. Naylor had been gentle when he explained the gravity of the situation to Sam…the likelihood of the outcome. He told Sam that the worst was still to come, seizures and migraines. He explained drug therapies and sleep therapy and the final surgery to remove the stint, _we'll need to take it out in the next few days. _ Sam lay on the cheap motel mattress and tried not to think about Dean lying in a bed not so far away but still out of his reach. He tried not to think about his brother suffering because he had been protecting Sam.

Three raps on the door pulled Sam from his stupor, and when he opened it he was greeted by a pimply faced teenager holding a pie box and a two liter bottle of soda. He paid the kid and tipped him five bucks before closing and latching the door. He took the food back the bed with him and ate it on top of the blankets. He didn't think or process the fact that he was eating, only shoveled greasy wedges into his mouth chasing them with soda straight from the bottle. Eventually he was full and his stomach ached as he fell asleep next to the cardboard box.

Nature called Sam around four that morning. He stumbled, barely awake, to the bathroom on the far side of the room. He didn't turn on the light or close the door, just dropped his jeans and relieved himself. He flushed the toilet and ran his hands under the water in the lavatory then padded back toward the bed. He should have known it was coming. He felt warm and there was a dull ache behind his eyes. Then it hit him fill force. It was like hot steel slicing through his brain, flashes of white heat followed by surges of ice. His skull felt like it was being crushed and all the liquid being squeezed from his brain. He fell to his knees outside the bathroom door and rocked forward as he wrapped his man-paws around his head trying to pry the pain loose. He leaned forward and put his head to the filthy carpet and waited for it to end, eager for Dean's comforting touch that always followed the ordeal. But Dean would not be there tonight to ease the pain. So he just let it take him over, closing his eyes to accept whatever vision of death and trauma the evil inside him had to offer.

He saw Dean. He was in the hospital. And the scene flashed white and cold and changed. He saw his father in a dark room, not alone, but clearly not in welcome company. When his mind's eye flashed heat his vision offered him Dean again, writhing in pain and attended by no one. Then his writhing and whimpering stopped and his body came to a rest on the bed, chest still heaving. A final flash tore through Sam and left him unable to breathe for the pain that was thrumming through him. He saw his father, back turned to him, talking to someone Sam couldn't see as he fell to the ground and clutched his chest. His form surged and lurched for a moment then stopped as abruptly as it started, his father certainly dead on the floor.

He gave himself a moment to breathe and hauled himself onto the closest bed. He ran a hand over his face and pinched the bridge of his nose. He felt like shit and tried to remember what Dean always did to help him when the things ended. 'Water, aspirin, cold towel'. So he went back to the bathroom and wet a towel before he returned to the bed. He pulled the first aid kit out of the duffle on the floor and found the bottle of store brand aspirin. He poured a few tablets into his hand and then into his mouth. He chewed the pills and chugged what was left in the soda bottle next to him.

His body fell back on the bed, legs hanging down to the floor and he put the wet towel over his eyes. He was processing what he saw and formulating his plan of action. It was a simple one really. He'd wait till he could see straight then get in the car and go back to the hospital where he should have been all along. He'd call Bobby once he knew Dean was okay and let him know what was going on. He would ask his friend to go out in search of his father. He would stay with Dean and not leave him again because there was no way his bother would suffer alone the way he had in his vision. _No way._

He rolled off of the bed and dressed himself. He pulled on another shirt and slipped into his jacket as he jammed his big feet into his boots. He didn't check out, just left the key on the desk and pulled the door closed behind him.

And as Sam Winchester careened out of the back of the parking lot in an old Ford sedan, John Winchester headed north on County Highway 6 toward the motel.

* * *

Dean had suffered through migraines his entire life. He took a pill as a child to combat them because they were hard on his little body and often accompanied by bouts of nausea. He'd lay silently on a motel mattress, breathing rhythmically through the pain, and hoping that Sammy couldn't tell how bad it was. They would keep him from hunts and out of school. They were bad when he was young, but like acne or puppy love, he grew out of them. So he should have remembered what it felt like and been ready for it, but he wasn't.

He had woken in the dark, someone pounding on his head with a sledgehammer. He would swear he could hear a pencil dragging across paper down the hall, digging trenches in his brain. And where was the damn nurse? Someone was in and out of the room every ten minutes until he actually needed something, then they were all MIA. He fumbled for the CALL button on the side of the bed but his limp hand just wouldn't help him. He didn't know if he could take the pain, his body moving involuntarily, searching for release. _Breathe. Just like when you were a kid. In through your nose and out past your lips. Breathe, it'll help. _He thought for sure he'd black out soon. And when he didn't he started to pray for it, wondering why he made Sam stay gone.

The pain consumed him. It made him want to cry for lack of anything else to do to relieve his suffering. He wanted to cry like the little boy he had never been allowed to be. He had heard what Naylor said about the migraines and seizures following. He'd seen the look on Sam's face when Naylor's voice dropped to a nearly inaudible level. He didn't know what the man had told his baby brother, but he knew he was dying. And the thing about it was that he wasn't scared of dying. He'd stare it down and welcome the release when the end finally came. But what did frighten him, what scared the living shit out of Dean was the idea of leaving Sam here alone. And that was what he suffered with alone in the dark of his hospital room, moaning in pain and desperate for relief.

And then, as though some higher power heard his soft whimpers of pain and silent pleas for relief, the door to his room swung open.

Sam looked at his brother and realized he was standing in his vision. Dean was writhing on the bed, whimpering in pain. Alone. There was no way to measure the amount of time it took Sam to move from the doorway to his brothers side. He hit the CALL button as he met the bed and pried Dean's fingers from the vice grip Dean had on the rail of the bed.

"Dean?" He asked receiving a fierce grip from his brother's hand.

"Sam ehh (Sammy)", he rasped. "Shit".

"It's okay Dean, it's okay, some one's coming, okay?" Sam soothed, unsure of how to help ease his brother's pain.

"Gahh", he rolled his shoulders forward and squeezed Sam's hand as tightly as he could, willing the pain to leave him.

"What's going on Dean?" Sam asked frantically as he pressed the CALL button again.

"Ughh", his shoulders rolled back again, "Muh ed (My head)". And as the words left his mouth the nurse came in.

"Alrighty Dean. We were wondering when you were going to need this". She held up a large syringe and pushed the contents in the IV that was lodged into Dean's hand. "That should help, okay sweetie?" She smiled at him as she stepped around Sam to leave the room.

"Hey", Sam barked in that tone that made bones rumble. "Where the hell were you people when he was left here alone in pain?"

The nurse turned and looked at Sam like he had asked her if she'd trade her virtue for a happy meal. "When the CALL light came on we responded Mr. McGuilicuty. We can only do so much for him, you know". And with that verbal slap across the face, she left.

Sam looked back at Dean. He hoped Dean had not heard her and registered what the careless woman had said. His brother wasn't gripping the bed railings anymore and his body was still, but the pain was written very clearly across his face. Whatever the nurse gave him had taken the edge off. 'Thank God.' He slipped his boots off and sat indian style on the end of Dean's bed, his knee rubbing Dean's foot.

"Why didn't you call the nurse?" Sam asked, afraid his brother had been trying to play tough, be a martyr.

"I coo en gee duh bu unh. Muh han den wor (I couldn't get the button. My hand didn't work)", Dean explained.

Sam let it go. He'd take care of that later when the idea of leaving Dean alone wasn't something akin to ripping his own heart out of his chest. "Okay, we'll take care of that somehow", he promised. "Are you okay, now?"

"I be fi Sam ehh (I'll be fine Sammy)", he told his brother.

"That's not what I asked you Dean", Sam jerked.

But before Dean could come up with some other way to rebuff Sam and not admit to his physical pain, the door to the room opened again.

The man in the doorway had been there already and seen what was on display there. Now he would come as a father, not a voyer.

"Dad?" Sam gasped and Dean's eyes flew open.

"Sam, I'm sorry", John spoke softly, waiting for some response that told him he was welcome.

"It's fine Dad. You're here now Dad", Sam stood up and looked his father in the eye, nodding gently. "You're here now".

John took the words as permission and walked into the dark room and into Sam's personal space. He wrapped tired arms around his son and held him close for just a minute, remembering the feeling of holding him as a baby and as a boy.

"Are you okay?" He whispered into Sam's ear.

"No", Sam whispered back. John could feel Sam's breath on his neck as he held onto his son while he spoke.

John clapped his Sam's shoulder then looked down at Dean. He smiled, a tear in his eye unwilling to fall. He walked to the edge of the bed and sat down next to Dean, placing a warm calloused hand on his son's arm.

"Hey", he said, shame tainting his voice.

"Dah (Dad)", Dean pushed out.

John ran his hand up Dean's arm, across his shoulder and up into his hair. "I'm sorry it took me so long to get here, son", he apologized.

"Is kay (It's okay)", Dean turned into his fathers touch.

The conversation was personal and what Sam couldn't hear he knew he wasn't meant to.

"How are you hanging in there?" John asked him, never breaking eye contact.

Dean knew what the question meant beyond the physical aspect. "I scare Dah (I'm scared Dad)", he confessed, finally feeling safe enough in his fathers protection to let himself really accept what he was going through.

"Don't be scared Dean", John whispered.

**OMG! It has taken what feels like an eternity to get this chapter out. I wrote one where Sam yelled at John, one where he yelled at Dean, one with Bobby making a moving speech…even one where Sam and Dean duked it out. But this was the only one that seemed right. I had to give John something…I really do miss him! wipes an imaginary tear**

**So the rest is coming. I make no promises anymore as I clearly have no control over my life and it's timeline at this point. But I'll tell you this…reviews move me to write more and faster!! PLEASE REVIEW!!**

**You guys rock my sox for sticking with me!!**


	18. Me and My Boys

**Alrighty…So Jumper (we all remember him…grown man…err..moron…who jumped off the house) thought I should go ahead and fill you guys in and quit beating around the proverbial bush. So here you go…more story and yummy plot. Oh and it only gets better. To all of you who don't like the idea of John cashing out his tab, don't' get soo worked up.**

**And Karma…Kripke Junior being a good thing or a bad thing?? I'd say good, cause I think he is an evil genius and I'd like to hold that title, too!**

**Okay, go on, read the story…**

Dean's eyes widened, pupils blown from shock and pain. "Di ou geh ehh, Dah (Did you get it, Dad)?"

John looked at Dean then let his gaze wonder over to Sam. He swallowed his pride and was as honest as he could be with his sons, "No", a ghost of a smile, "No, I think I'm gonna need your help on this one boys".

Dean looked away, feeling like a wounded dog left on the porch. He had spent almost his entire life fighting on the front lines and now he would miss the most important battle. He'd miss the opportunity to avenge his mother's death and the ruin of Sammy's life.

"Cah Dah. Mmm nah goan be her lown (Can't Dad. I'm not going to be here long)". He tried to be brave when he said it, but the scared little boy in him was trying to push through.

"Shhh shhh shhh", John ran a warm hand along Dean's cheek. "You're gonna be fine, Dean. You just gotta rest and let the doctors take care of you", he soothed.

Dean's heart fell. Sam would no doubt tell his father the truth of the situation at the first chance. He looked at Sam and wanted to cry again, his focus returning to the fact that his brother would suffer and watch him die and once he was gone Sam would be alone.

"I…", Dean started, eyes darting between his father and his brother.

Sam stood at the end of the bed and squeezed Dean's foot. "I'm gonna give you two a few minutes, huh?"

John peered over his shoulder at his youngest son and nodded his head, "Thanks Sammy. Would you mind grabbing me a cup of coffee while you're gone?"

"Yeah, no problem", Sam turned and left his father and brother alone to say whatever it was they needed to say to each other.

* * *

"Wuh choo sa a bow Sam eehh (What you said about Sammy)" Dean started.

John shook his head, noticing the increased beeping of Dean's heart monitor. "Don't, don't worry about that", he soothed. "I shouldn't have said that to you".

"Bu is imp tant Dah (But it's important Dad)", he pressed.

"No, none of that is important Dean. I'll take care of it." He hoped the monitor would slow, that Dean would go against years of conditioning and just let it drop. And to John's surprise he did.

The monitor slowed, not to the calm pace it had been at before, but it was a marked improvement. "Les geh ow a here Dah. Jus, les lee and go a way. A way fra her (Lets get out of here Dad. Just, lets leave and go away. Away from here)", he pled with tear brimmed eyes.

"You gotta stay here, kiddo", John was affectionately thumbing Dean's wrist. "The doctors have to keep an eye on you…help you get better".

"No Dah. I know wus gon on. I know I die en. Ass Sam he te ou is true (No Dad. I know whats going on. I know I'm dying. Ask Sam hell tell you it's true)", Dean sputtered.

John did his best to smile and laugh off the things his son was telling him, as though the idea were absurd and Dean was delusional. "No Dean. You're not dying. You're gonna be fine, okay?"

Dean swallowed the fear and resolved to be strong for Sam if his father wouldn't listen to his dying wish. "Den tay Sam an go. I doan wan heh to ha to wash me die. I can do it to himh (Then take Sam and go, I don't want him to have to watch me die. I can't do it to him)".

Now John was crying. He couldn't help it and he couldn't stop it. His boy wanted to die alone to save his brother the heartache. "No Dean, no one is going anywhere", he was stern in his statement, but laid a hand on his son's chest. "I want you to rest okay? We can talk later".

Dean didn't want to rest, he wanted to be awake, in the moment, soaking in the scent of his father and the warmth of his presence. But his body was drained and after all these years and all the things he had done as a man, he still crumbled under his father's orders.

John watched his little boy close his bloodshot eyes and fall asleep. _Twenty-four hours left_. He didn't have much time, but he'd use it wisely, putting his family first, for the first time since Mary died.

* * *

Sam found himself pacing the halls of the maternity ward. He focused on the soft cries of newborns and the energy the bundles behind the window gave off. _Life._

He was lost in thoughts of Dean and his father. He wondered what the two could be discussing. Sam wasn't an idiot. He knew that when you worked your way into the depths of this bizarre family dynamic, that he always came last. John was Dean's father and his best friend, always had been. Little Sammy had been left behind at motels to do homework while Dean and their father went out hunting and drinking. The two older men shared the memory of Mary and Lawrence and a normal existence. They had a life before this one and Sam didn't really fit into it. He had ruined it, and that was a fact that he just couldn't escape.

He stopped his pacing and leaned against the window, pressing his forehead to the cool glass, staring at a dark haired baby with big brown eyes, swaddled in a blue blanket. He envied the little one.

"You've got your whole life ahead of you little man", tears of anguish and loss and hope brimmed his eyes, "Don't waste a second of it". And the tears started to fall quietly. "And your family", he ran a long bony finger along the glass, "Don't take them for granted. Tell them everything and never walk away from them. They are the most important people you'll ever have in your life".

Sam was startled out of his heart to heart with the infant by a man in a janitors uniform.

"Let me guess", the man broke in, "Your first".

Sam looked up a little embarrassed at being caught, "No, no. I'm just visiting. Trying to get my head straight". He raised his arm and wiped his cheeks with the sleeve of his jacket.

"Ahh", the man looked like he understood completely. "Young man with a wife, trying to sort out his life".

Sam chuckled, flashing the man a quick smile, "Close, but no. A brother. He uh…he's not doing so well. I just needed a break from that reality".

"I'm sorry", the man shifted on his feet and extended his hand. Sam reached forward and shook the mans hand firmly. "I'm David".

"Sam", he replied.

"You mind me asking about your brother?" David pressed.

Sam took a deep breath. 'Share Dean with the world. Talk about him, it could help.' "No, not at all. He's my big brother. We were in an accident and he…it's pretty bad. He's losing his sight and there are some complications". Sam absent mindedly started rubbing the hem of his jacket with his thumb. "The doc doesn't know if he'll make it".

"What about you? You think he'll pull through?" The stranger asked, as though it were the simplest question.

"He's tough. Always has been", Sam replied looking back to the infant and remembering that Dean had been tough since the night he carried a baby Sam out of the burning house. "I think he just needs a break, ya know?"

"Well Son, I'm no expert, but I believe that a little faith and a lot of love can go a long way. You just be there when he needs you and push him when he doesn't want to push himself anymore". The man was so kind and something in his eyes spoke of knowing and trust. So Sam took his advice to heart.

And just as he was about to thank the man his cell phone rang. 'Out of Area' flashed on the screen.

"Thanks David", Sam said as he shook the man's hand and waved the phone in the air. The man waved him off as Sam answered the call.

"Hello?"

"Sam. Bobby", the aged hunter sounded energized.

"Hey Bobby", Sam replied, wondering, _Did Singer jump into this century and buy a cell phone?_

"I'm about an hour out, you boys need me to pick anything up?" Bobby asked politely.

"Nah, I think we're good", then he stopped. "Bobby. Dad's here".

"Bout damn time", he barked into the phone. "He's not making trouble is he?"

Sam couldn't help the smile. Bobby knew John too well. "No, he's behaving".

"Alright. I'll be there in two shakes. You hold down the fort till I show up", Bobby was making a conscious effort to sound upbeat, Sam sounded beaten down.

"Got it", and Sam hung up the phone.

* * *

Long legs carried him back to the cafeteria where he bought a black coffee before heading back to Dean's room.

When he walked in John was sitting in the empty plastic chair next to the bed, staring at Dean.

"Here you go Dad", he held the steaming cup out to his father almost like a peace offering.

"Thanks Sammy", John looked him over. "You haven't been sleeping have you?"

Sam felt like he had been caught in some kind of devious act. "When I can. Haven't been a lot of breaks lately", he confessed.

"Well, sleep now", John gestured to the awkward bed/bench under the window.

Sam could do nothing but comply with the order. After all the yelling and fighting that had gone on between he and his father, he still felt safest in his presence. "Yeah, okay", he scrubbed his face with his hand and settled into the seat, casting a glance at Dean's sleeping form before he closed his own eyes.

"Oh", his eyes shot open, "Bobby's on his way".

* * *

Sam had been asleep for close to forty-five minutes and hadn't made a sound the entire time, only shifting his hips to better angle his long legs that were cramped into a space too small.

Dean was rousing, hovering somewhere between sleep and consciousness, but not yielding entirely to one or the other. But that was about to change.

Sam started rocking from side to side, hoof like hands reaching into the air, batting at something not there.

"Let me go. I'm fine", he screeched. "It's not my blood, it's his blood. Get off of me, let me go".

Dean started to come around, hearing his Sam screeching and begging. His eyes fluttered open and focused on Sam's folded form thrashing under the window, eyes screwed shut.

"Please, help my brother", he pled with no one. "Dean! Help him please".

Dean's gaze shot to his father who was watching the scene in stunned silence.

"Way heh uhh, Dah. Is a nigh mare. Ouu gah uhh way heh uhh (Wake him up Dad. It's a nightmare. You gotta wake him up)", Dean told his father. "Sam ehh", Dean yelled as his father walked over to the boy.

Sam heard Dean's voice and it jostled him from his slumber. He drew in a gasp of air as he sat straight up and looked at Dean. He jumped off the bench, slipping past his father, and was next to Dean in a split second.

"Dean", his hands landed on firm shoulders as his eyes searched his brothers face. "Are you okay? Do you need the nurse? What's wrong? Dammit Dean, what is it?" His mouth moved quickly, his brain left behind.

"Nuthin ron wi me. Ouu weh ha a nigh mare Sam eeh (Nothing's wrong with me. You were having a nightmare Sammy)", Dean grabbed Sam's forearm with his left hand and squeezed it tight. "Ouu kay (You okay)?"

Sam looked back at the bench and then to his father, "Yeah, yeah, I'm good".

Dean didn't buy it. He'd heard everything Sam had expelled in his sleep. This was what he wanted to avoid, what he wanted to protect Sam from. His suffering caused Sam to suffer and that was something he just couldn't live with.

"Si down (Sit down)", Dean instructed. "Les ah jus re lass fo a mih hut (Les all just relax for a minute)", and damn if Dean didn't take control of the room and bring his father and his brother back from the edge.

* * *

The room had long since fallen silent, but no one heard the door open or noticed her standing there.

"John Reginald Winchester. I can't get a moments peace for all the trouble you keep getting into".

Sam looked up and smiled. John and Dean however, let out groans that alluded to annoyance and maybe a touch of fear.

Missouri Mosely stood in the doorway, five feet two inches of righteousness. She wore a black dress and a brown overcoat and held a canvas tote bag. She was, to those who knew her, terrifying in the best way.

"Missouri", John stood in the presence of a lady. "What are you doing here?" he demanded, more than a little confused.

She moved slowly into the room, shoes scuffing the floor, "You know damn well what I'm doing here", she spoke in a calm tone, "But we'll discuss that later". She put her bag down against the wall and moved toward Sam who rose from his seat to greet her.

Sam couldn't stop himself, he opened his arms and hugged the woman tightly. They were kindred spirits and he found her voice and her tone and even the smell of arthritis ointment that she carried calming. She kissed him gently on the cheek and pointed a finger at him as she stood back. "You should have called me, boy. But it's no matter, I got the message and I'm here now. And you and I are gonna talk"

He just shook his head, there was no way he could argue.

She moved like an old cat, slow but determined in her steps. She found herself standing next to Dean, holding his limp right hand. "And you", she said as she rubbed his cheek, "You have a lot of getting better to do. We need you out there, not in here". She stroked his cheek and looked in his eyes remembering the sad little boy she had met in the doorway of a burned down house twenty-two years ago, "Same little boy. Just bigger britches". She patted his hand and placed it back over his chest, then turned to John, who was waiting.

"I called him and he got on a red eye. He should be here soon and then the three of us are going to figure this out", she said, never saying who she called, but knew John would know.

"You didn't drag him all the way here, I have this", he looked around the room and chose his words wisely, "under control".

"My foot", she shot back.

And that's when the door opened and Bobby crossed over the threshold. He looked up and saw Missouri standing in the center of the room facing John.

"Shit", he mumbled, moving into the room cautiously. "Missouri", he nodded in her direction.

Thick arms folded across her chest as she looked at the man with a gleam in her eye. "Bobby Singer", she stated, "I haven't seen you since…"

But Bobby cut her off as his hand flew up in the air, "Uh…let's not. Not in front of the children", he gestured to Sam and Dean.

"Mmm hmmm", Missouri hummed giving Bobby a disapproving look.

Sam chuckled in the corner. Apparently Missouri had something on everyone, and everyone was afraid of Missouri.

Bobby looked at the eldest Winchester sitting mute. "Finally got your head out of your ass and came back, huh Johnny?"

John just glared at Singer, embarrassed that so many people wanted to put him in his place in front of his children. "Shut up", he snapped. "Besides, we have bigger problems", a glance was thrown to Missouri as John's chin jutted in her direction, "She got Rougon on a red eye. He's headed here".

"Why?" Bobby questioned looking right at Missouri.

"Oh we'll have to talk about that somewhere else", she smiled.

John stood up, determined to get this over with so he could be with his sons in peace, "Lets go. We do this now".

Sam nodded at the three and watched them leave, wishing he knew who the hell Rougon was and what John had done to require the man's presence.

* * *

The three sat in conference at a table in the cafeteria, backed into a corner.

"What the hell is going on?" Bobby demanded.

Missouri looked John in the eye and waited for the man to speak up. He stared right back, a quiet gesture to say he wasn't talking about it. So Missouri took the wheel.

"John came face to face with that thing that ruined his life and his boys lives and made a deal with it", she spoke clearly.

Bobby jumped, "You what?"

"Sit down Bobby", he spoke in a hushed tone. "Dean is in bad shape and there is nothing I can do to fix it, so yeah, I made a deal".

"What are the terms?" Bobby asked, his face set like stone.

"The colt and my soul for Dean's life". The weight of what he had done hit John like a ton of bricks when he said it out loud. Here he was with his children and he was going top have to leave them, never to come back.

"So that 's what you called Rougon for?" Bobby asked the psychic.

"Yeah. He should be here any time. Then we'll get down to cleaning up your mess", she spoke pointedly and motioned to John.

"How did you know he made the deal?" Bobby asked her.

"You kidding me? I've got John stuck in my head like he's the only channel on the television", she looked into John's eyes as if to convey more than her words were saying, "I know everything this man feels and does".

* * *

A tall man, bald, with bright blue eyes and dark eyebrows wondered down the halls of Shiloh County Hospital. He wasn't dressed in anything out of the ordinary, black trousers and a black button down shirt, but he looked different from the other people who covered the halls.

He pushed open the door to room 264 to find Dean Winchester alone, asleep on the bed. He walked in and stood close, not touching the boy but surveying him, eyes taking in the pallid skin and pink rimmed eyes, not missing the way his right hand fell limp on his chest. Then he heard the click.

Sam's thumb pulled the hammer back on the weapon. He placed the barrel of the handgun flush with the mans neck and stepped close. "Touch him and it's the last thing you do, I swear".

Rougon Bishop smirked and let out a deep breath. "Your father trained you well, Samuel. I didn't know you were here till I felt gun metal".

Sam's brow quirked and his head jerked, but he never moved the weapon away from its target, "Who are you and what are you doing here?"

Rougon raised both of his hands in the air and turned slowly to face Sam. "My name is Rougon. I'm an old friend , and I use that term loosely, of your fathers. I'm here to help your brother. And probably save your father".

Sam lowered his gun and looked in the man's eyes, measuring him up, looking for a lie. All he saw was honesty, so he offered his hand to the man, who batted it away and pulled Sam into a hug.

"I've seen what will come for you Samuel", he stepped back and looked into Sam's eyes and what felt like Sam's soul. "It won't be easy and you will feel like it's too much, but you will come out on the other side, stronger than before, having met your destiny".

Sam didn't understand what the man was saying or what he knew or hell, what he wanted to do to help Dean. But before he could ask Dean woke up and Sam saw his eyes blow wide. "Sam eeh? Who…Rouge un? (Sammy? Who…Rougon?)" Dean rasped.

**Ehhhh!! I am loving this!! I am tapping away at the next chapter already…this story is coming faster now. Maybe another chapter on the weekend?? Hope you liked it…please review!!**


	19. Maybe A Little Mojo

**Okay, we'll start with Rougon (say it Rouge-anh, like Baton ROUGE or Moulin ROUGE). I am from Baton Rouge, but life and work have me in New Orleans about three times a week. A friend owns a silver shop on Magazine Street in N.O. and I walk between the shop and a coffee shop and often see this guy Oliver who owns one of the Voodoo shops and claims to be a Voodoo Preist with psychic abilities (honestly you can find tons of these folks if you go to the right, or wrong, corners of the city). We drink our coffee standing on the street and we talk. He might be a legit, but he's also very weird….but Voodoo and weird go hand in hand. Anyway…Rougon will be loosely based on my friend Oliver the Voodoo Preist.**

**Yes, Dean knows Rougon but Sam does not…clearly their meeting happened sometime during the 'Lost Years' (that's when Sammy was in California). Now all we have to do is find out how they know each other and how this tall stranger can help the Winchesters.**

Dean's head was muddled. Less than five minutes ago Sam had excused himself. _I gotta hit the head, are you okay?_ Half asleep he had made a face and waved Sam off with his good arm.

Now, a man he hadn't seen in a year, who kind of creeped him out, was standing between he and Sam, and yeah, that was a glock in Sammy's hand.

"Wus goan on? Wuh ahh ouu do her Roug unh (What's going on? What are you doing here Rougon)?" He asked, hoping this was all just a dream. Because Voodoo Priests don't usually come hundreds of miles when things are good.

"I was called upon to help a friend", the man gave a wry smile, "and your father, too".

"I'm sorry", Sam stepped forward not yet willing to relinquish the grip on his gun, "but who are you and how do you know my family?"

Rougon smiled and sat down in the empty chair beside Dean's bed. "Sit and I'll tell you all you need to know Samuel".

Sam sat down and listened as the man went on for thirty minutes about meeting John and Dean.

Twenty years ago John made his was south of the Mason Dixon and into the Crescent City. He had caught wind of what he thought was a possession and was prepared to exorcise the demon from the man who was hold up in the penthouse of the Royal Sonesta on Bourbon Street. What John didn't know was that it wasn't just a possession. The man was a tourist who had made a shady deal in the den of a Voodoo Priestess. Rougon explained that locals knew better than to make deals and many stayed away from Voodoo, especially the Priestess Eugenie. She had made a deal with a demon and was in the business of collecting souls and bodies for possession in exchange for time in the Quarter she loved. The man, on a business trip, had come to her seeking a magical solution to a failing marriage. He got a lot more than he had bargained for. She fooled him, dosed him with an herb concoction and offered his body for possession and his soul for tenure. He never knew what was happening. When John forced his way into the room he quickly became aware of the irregularities in this case. He made his way through the neon lights of city and stumbled into the first Voodoo den he could find and inside found Rougon.

Rougon was a psychic as well as a Priest and knew exactly who John was, what he did, and why he was there. He welcomed John instantly and agreed to help him. He'd followed the hunter back to Bourbon St. and not long into his endeavors he'd learned what everyone else did: John Winchester did things his way and yielded to no one, wanting full control of every situation. In the end the man was free and Rougon told John he had been glad to help, but asked him never to come back to Rougon's den or to the city itself. John smiled his thousand watt 'kiss my ass' smile and wrote down the man's name and address as he walked out. It would be one of the contacts he would give to Dean years down the line.

Dean met him in late October, about the time John had gone missing. He was working his own case in New Orleans and had to call on one of the contacts John had given him. Again, a tourist had trudged into one of the darker corners of the city and dabbled in Voodoo. Dean, remembering warnings from Jefferson growing up, didn't want to dirty his hands in something he wasn't sure he could wash off. So he made his way to the man's shop and introduced himself as John Winchesters son and told the Priest that he was in need of help. Rougon had resisted at first and but after shaking the boys hand and looking in his eyes, he knew Dean to be one of the good guys and worth trusting.

Simple ritual and the ordeal was over for all parties involved. Dean thanked Rougon as he left, apologizing for the millionth time for Johns behavior all those years ago. Rougon pulled Dean into an awkward and unexpected hug. That was the first time anyone said anything to him about Sam. He had whispered into Dean's ear about his family, but Dean didn't know what he had really meant. Only after his fathers phone call and later revelations would his mind and his heart finally decode the man's words. _You and your brother have a special bond. You both bear the weight of a higher purpose in this world. And Samuel will be more than you think, he is a special man Dean, and he'll need you to help him carry his share. Never think of him what your heart knows not to be true._

Rougon sat in the dimly lit hospital room and told Sam the entire story of his history with the Winchester's, carefully omitting what he knew about Samuel and what he had told Dean all those months ago. He was also careful not to divulge any further information regarding his current reason for being there now, just stuck to the story of a call from Missouri asking him to come and see John and Dean.

* * *

"And what do you expect him to do when he gets here?" John asked Missouri, leaning over the table and hissing with his chest close to the surface.

"You know what he's here for John", she stared the man down. "It's why we're all here. We're here to save your son's life and your soul, you fool". She tried to keep her voice low. "You never think do you? You practice what you preach, 'shoot first ask questions later', and its what you are beating into those boys, too".

Bobby sat quietly, not daring to interrupt or disturb Mrs. Mosely as she made her case.

"You ran out and made a deal with the devil before you even checked on Dean, found out how he was really doing", she laid one hand over the other in front of her chest. "Now we have to fix this John. And you will cooperate and do whatever has to be done or I promise you that devil won't get the chance to kill you, I'll handle that myself".

John looked over at Bobby who only shook his head and waved his arms in front of himself as if to say, _don't look at me, I'm on her side._

"Fine", John huffed, "We'll try it your way, but I am not going to let Dean die".

Missouri nodded in approval of John's decision. "Good man". Suddenly her head turned down to the floor then slowly back to John. "Let's go back on up. He's here now".

* * *

It was quickly becoming a pattern with Sam: he was sitting perched on the end of Dean's bed, legs crossed below him indian style, one hand on Dean's foot. It was his right foot and Sam didn't know exactly how much Dean could feel, was it just the pressure of Sam's hand or was there actual sensation there. Either way, he was running his thumb over the top of Dean's foot, calming himself.

Rougon was still in the cheap plastic chair at the bedside. He had pulled a short length of unfinished rope out of his pocket and was working it diligently. It was green and smelled awful, like sweet wet hay and cow manure. Rougon explained it was the husk of sugar cane, worked into a rope for special uses. He hummed a strange tune and occasionally chanted out words that sounded French but then didn't. Sam worried that the noise or the smell would upset Dean, lately every noise and every smell had triggered something in him. But he had fallen back asleep at some point and had failed to stir under the chanting and Sam's touch.

"Yoo hoo!", a tiny black woman in a pair of pink scrubs pushed the door to Dean's room open then stopped before she reached the bed, placing a hand over her mouth, a look of shame crossing her features. "I'm so sorry", she whispered, "I didn't realize he was still asleep".

"It's okay", Sam told the woman.

"His doctor wanted us to sit him up long enough to get him to eat. According to his chart it's been awhile since he got anything down and he needs to have something in his system when we give him the new drugs", she explained, keeping her voiced down.

"What new drugs?" Sam's voice hitched with concern.

"Anti-seizure medication", she replied.

"Okay", Sam heard 'anti-seizure' and felt a punch to his gut. "Okay, yeah. I'll wake him and get him to sit up", his eyes darted from the dean to the woman. "How high should he sit up?"

"Just get him up high enough to be able to swallow", and she was out the door.

Sam got up and stood right next to Dean, shaking his shoulder gently. "Dean", Sam urged, "Dean, you gotta get up, Dude", Sam continued.

A grunt barely passed Dean's lips as he opened his eyes. This was getting old, it really was. Every time he opened his eyes he was reminded that he couldn't see for shit. Sure nothing was totally black, but everything in his right eye was a blur of shapes and colors and his left eye gave everything a hazy distorted quality.

"Du, I seepin, wus goan on (Dude, I'm sleeping, what's going on)?" Dean demanded with all the anger and force his weakened body could muster.

Sam laughed at Dean's attempt to be tough. "You gotta sit up Dean. Don't move, I'm just gonna raise the bed a little". And he did. He held down the button on the side of the bed, watching Dean's upper body rise into the room.

"Why I geh up, Sam eeh (Why am I getting up, Sammy)?" Dean asked in time to see a plump woman come into the room carrying a tray. She placed it on the rolling table and pushed it in front of Dean. She couldn't help but smile at Sam and Dean and gave Rougon a look of disapproval and concern.

"Naylor wants you to eat", Sam informed his brother, as though he needed the instruction.

"Not hun ree (Not hungry)", Dean muttered, shooting Rougon a look.

Sam took the top off of the tray and studied the contents: all things that Dean could eat without help. "Gotta eat Dean or they can't give you any medication".

Dean's head rolled slowly in Sam's direction, meeting his brothers eyes with a pleading look. He reached up with his left hand and gave his finger a wag. Sam instinctively leaned down and got as close to Dean's lips as he could.

"Geh heh ou of her, peas Sam eeh (Get him out of here, please Sammy)", he requested, shooting a look back to the tray in front of him.

Sam knew. Dean didn't want to have to gum his food and struggle like a child in front of the man, and Sam could understand that. So he looked at Rougon, ready to speak but was cut off by the unusual man.

"I think I will put my time to good use and seek out your father", he spoke softly, offering no hint of his knowledge of Dean's insecurities. He got up and left the room with out pageantry.

"Okay Dean. Eat it", Sam looked down on his big brother, forcing the tray close to him. He took the top off and watched Dean survey the contents.

"Nah hun ree (Not hungry)", he said again.

"Look", Sam crouched down and came face to face with Dean. "We didn't hold out and hold on to get this far for it to all go to hell here. You can't stop eating now Dean". Sam 's eyes were pleading, a mix of terrified and hopeful and lost. "You can't get any of the medication you need if you don't eat, Dean".

Dean's mind was too full of his own fate and Sam's fate and what the hell were Rougon and Missouri doing here, to try and eat. He really wasn't hungry, but Sammy looked so pitiful asking him to eat.

He had resorted to treating Dean like a child. He peeled a nearly brown banana and held it out to Dean. "Come on, please Dean. Eat it…for me. I can't watch you wither away".

Dean just couldn't bring himself to eat right now. Why didn't Sam get that? He wasn't trying to be difficult, it's just the way it was coming out.

"If you don't eat they are going to put you on a feeding tube Dean", Sam's hair fell in front of his eyes as his head dropped in defeat. "Please…" he stuttered as his breath hitched. "Please don't me watch them do that to you".

Dean reached forward and swatted at the hair that was blocking Sam's face. When the soft brown locks no longer obstructed Sammy's face Dean saw red rimmed eyes and puffy cheeks. 'Great, I made him cry', he thought.

"Kay", Dean's left hand took the fruit and he watched as the light came back to Sam's eyes, if only for a moment. He ate the banana and then consumed everything off of the tray that Sam offered, even though it all made him nauseous.

Sam let Dean sit upright a few minutes after he ate, allowing his system to digest, then slowly lowered him back down. Dean fought with consciousness for a few minutes before he slipped back to sleep. He could already feel his body losing this battle, finding staying awake a challenge.

Sam sat close, one hand on Dean's chest, feeling it rise and fall in proof of life. At some point the adrenaline and emotions and caffeine gave way to exhaustion and Sam fell asleep at his brothers side.

* * *

Rougon walked away from the room the two Winchesters occupied and headed toward a feeling. He stopped in front of a bay of elevators and looked at the four sets of double doors. The second pulled him, so he stood in front of it and waited. He could feel the people he sought coming closer, rising from below. A bell rang out, announcing the arrival of the car. The doors slid open and three of the most distraught people he had ever seen stepped out.

John's eyes caught Rougon's and he spoke, "Bishop. You've come a long way to help a man you never wanted to see again".

"Shut up, Winchester", Bobby muttered.

"No", Rougon looked right at Bobby, then to John. "He is correct. I have come a very long way to help save souls. Even if one of those souls was given of a man's freewill".

He looked at Missouri, connecting with her on higher level, speaking without words. _Has he done what you feared he had done? _his mind questioned.

Missouri looked into the man, _yes. Sold his soul to save Dean. But I'm worried that…_

_I know. You worry too much my friend. We will resolve all of this and I will be on my way_. His used his mind to offer the woman a gentle touch.

"Now, John. I want to know just what you have done and what I must now do." Rougon reached out and put a hand on John's arm, connecting him to the weathered man, breaking past twenty-two years of walls. His eyes were closed and he looked to be in some sort of trance or deep concentration, drawing from John the information he needed.

"Mmmmm", Rougon opened his eyes and looked up. "Have you given this demon anything yet?"

"Yeah. I gave him the colt", John sputtered.

"And has he done anything for you in return?" Rougon pressed on.

"Not yet. But he promised me Dean's health and well being in return", John explained.

Rougon smiled. His job would be easier than he had expected. "I can not heal Dean, but I believe that I can fix things. And your soul, it's still yours until your demon comes through with his part of the deal. As it stands he owes you, as he has accepted a token".

John looked at him in disbelief. "Are you telling me that you can save me from going to hell and Dean will live?"

"I don't believe in Hell or Heaven, John. I believe in good and evil…and stupidity. But yes, I can save you from this fool hearted deal you have made".

"Thank God", Missouri whispered.

"It will take some time. You cannot doubt me or fear me. You cannot hold to false hopes or expect me to work miracles", his eyes wondered over the people standing in front of him. "I will need you all to participate and you must come to the table with an open mind and a full heart. Thinking only of Dean. And his brother, Samuel. He will be the key to salvation for all Winchesters tonite".

"What do we need?" John asked.

"Nothing that your hands can carry. I have in my possession the tools of my trade. All I need from you is what you can give from your heart". Rougons eyes pierced John and the voodoo priest could almost feel John's heart bleeding in his chest.

**Okay…I'll ask again…what do you think? Good? Bad? Should I salt and burn the computer?**

**Do you like Rougon? Is he a good guy or a bad guy...I mean, do you think we can trust him? I mean...he knows about Sam.**

**More is coming…maybe soon, maybe not. I make no promises.**

**So are we thinking John can be saved? Do you think Sam's gonna go postal on John when he finds out what he has done, cause yeah, Sammy doesn't know yet.**

**Lots of Rougon and John and Bobby to come…and everyone's second favorite psychic (Sammy being the first) Missouri is all over the next chapter.**

**PLEASE REVIEW!! You guys are like food for my muse…he comes and he goes…but he stays when he can feed off of something!! (Yeah it's a he…come on…and I think he might look a little like Ackles).**

**Happy Friday!! xoxoxox - Lolee**


	20. Bring On The Mojo

**Agghhh! I finally got the next chapter out…sorry these are taking so long to get out. I'm wrestling with this whole 'two new regular female hunters' thing…are they trying to kill the show. We can obliterate them in fiction.**

**The show starts filming the third season on July 16th…yeah…hiatus almost over!!! Hope ya'll had a great 4th of July!!**

**Okay…no more yakking. I hope you like this chapter. I am trying to get a feel for Bobby and Missouri so please let me know how I do with them. And Rougon is going to develop a lot here.**

**On to the story….**

Standing in the elevator bay, Rougon spoke animatedly, telling the small circle of friends what he would do and how it would be done. He made it clear that anyone who was involved would have to commit to it wholly, no arguments, and no interference. All nodded and started to walk away.

"Don't you even think about it John Winchester", Missouri spoke up from behind him.

"What? What are you talking about?" John tried for the sheepish, innocent look that Sammy could play on anyone. But he couldn't pull it off and he knew what Missouri was talking about.

"You are not going to try and pull the wool over their eyes", all four had stopped in the hall way and Missouri was crowding John's personal space. She stood up, pushing her five foot five frame against John's taller, more imposing body, and put a finger in his face. "You are going to go in that room and act like an adult and a father and tell those boys exactly whats going on".

John looked at Rougon, not surprised to see the man smiling, amused by John's forced submissiveness. But Bobby wasn't smiling. He was standing behind Rougon, chest heaving, nostrils flared, breaths coming sharp as his hands started to fist at his sides. Then he blew like buck shot leaving a rifle.

"You stupid, stubborn ass! What the hell is the matter with you? You run away when your boys need you and come back just in time to screw with their heads again", he took a deep breath and stepped closer. "I have stood by over the years and listened to you lie to those two and watched you break their hearts. I have been there too many times to pick up the pieces and fix whatever you've busted up…cars, weapons, your bones, your boys. But not anymore Winchester. You become a man here today". Bobby tried to restrain himself, but he just couldn't and let his temper have full control, grabbing the front of John's jacket and yanking him forcefully. "I'm not gonna lie to those boys and I'm not gonna let you lie to them either. And so help me God, you try and write this thing off and walk out that door I'll find you and skin you myself".

No one was moving now. Nurses had stopped at the nearby desk, watching the scene unfold and a rent-a-cop security guard was feet away, waiting for the first punch to be thrown so he could step in. But he wouldn't have to. Bobby let go of John and walked away without a word, down the hall and out of sight.

"Is he possessed?" Rougon whispered to Missouri.

"No", she said glaring at John who was staring down the hall after his friend, "He's a redneck".

"Ohhh", Rougon nodded as though this explained Bobby and all of his actions.

Missouri walked around the two men and turned back to face John. "I'm going find Bobby and you are going talk to your sons and tell them the truth. Only the truth, John, and I'll know". And with spin of her skirt and pop of her knees, Missouri turned and walked down the hall.

John looked at Rougon who smiled and walked away in silence.

* * *

Missouri walked to a junction in the hallways and stopped. She closed her eyes and felt around in the darkness for Singer. She sensed him and headed for the forth floor.

Bobby Singer was sitting in an empty waiting room in the east wing of the hospital. Head in his hands he was leaning over, facing the floor.

"You okay old man?" Missouri asked, announcing her presence.

"Don't know what got hold of me back there", he looked up at Missouri, pushing his ball cap up on his brow. "I just saw red. Didn't mean to cause a scene".

Missouri sat down next to Bobby and put a warm hand on his shoulder. "I know what got into you". He looked at her, eyes meeting in question.

"The boys", Bobby whispered.

"That's right. You feel a responsibility to those boys like a father would. And seeing their father handle things the way he does you can't help but get angry", she spoke with an air of knowing.

"He just…sometimes I just want to", and Bobby made a gesture with his hands as though he were throttling someone. "Then Sam goes and grows up to be such a man. And Dean, well shit. You know Dean. Same since the day I met him, protective and forceful and so damn Dean". His eyes misted over when he thought of the prospect of losing one of his boys. "You know, I remember him pulling an old Smith and Wesson on me in the salvage yard when he was about ten. He had Sam out there playing hide and seek or something and I spooked him. He just tucked that old pistol into his jeans and told me he was doing his job…watching out for Sam".

Missouri smiled at the warmth and love the man exuded when he talked about the young Winchesters. "He's going to be fine, Bobby", she offered. "Rougon is here and he's going to see to it that Dean and John walk out of here soon".

"Yeah", Bobby wiped at his eyes with his sleeve and pulled the bill of his old ball cap down. "Why don't we go get Sam some food and head back over there?"

"Oh, you old softy", Missouri quipped, "You'd make such a good father. Why haven't you had any kids?" She asked as they started to walk.

"Never found a good woman", he offered. "Why you offering?" He laughed audibly.

"You wish Singer. I remember what happened last time I saw you. Those three women in Idaho were trapped at that old dairy farm, and you…"

But Bobby cut her off with a hand, "Like I said back in Dean's room...let's not".

"Mmmm hmmm", Missouri hummed as they disappeared down the hall.

* * *

Dean had started dreaming two nights ago. And not your -naked in class, screwing your elderly neighbor, traumatic till you wake up and then it's funny- kind of dreams. These had a filtered realism quality to them. Like the lighting was never right and someone who shouldn't have always said something either poetic or prophetic. They started out normal: sipping beers on Bobbies back porch, talking about cars and demons, then Sam would appear and tones would change. Sam's eyes were sunken in and his hands would shake when he reached out to hand Dean a fresh brew. He looked a lot like the broken child that had come back from Palo Alto, not the man he had turned into somewhere on the road. Nothing earth shattering would happen in these dreams: a little work on the frame of the car, cooking burgers in a skillet in the kitchen, Sammy reading old books piled up in Bobby's den. Then something odd would happen, like Sam crying uncontrollably, and Dean would wake up when he tried to comfort him, never discovering the cause of his brothers distress.

Other times the dreams were disturbing. One in particular had gotten his heart monitor going. He was sitting in a bar next to Sam and their father sat next to them. Dean was talking about getting the demon and Sam was talking to him about the colt and not having it anymore. Dean asked his father what happened to the gun. When John only smiled at Dean he demanded that his father answer him. Sam had looked into his eyes with a gleam of terror and asked if Dean could see their father. _Of course I can see him, idiot. He's sitting right there._ And Sammy had lost it a little, starting to cry and insisting that Dean stop drinking and maybe go back to the room and lay down for a while. There was a plea for Dean to go see Missouri because he shouldn't see Dad and Dean refused, not understanding why he shouldn't be able to his father. Then, as Sam gripped Dean's shoulders in a way that he was sure would leave bruises, John wordlessly stood and walked away, fading into his surroundings.

He didn't know what the dreams meant, but felt sure they were ominous of something. Something he wasn't sure he wanted to know about or could handle. When Sam was small he could stop the tears, ruffling Sam's hair or giving him an extra soda. But now the things that tipped Sam over the edge were a lot harder to deal with, but still he never reacted the way Dream Sam had.

He made the decision not to say anything to Sam about the dreams. If he only had so much time left, he didn't want to use that time to get Sam all worked up. No, he wanted to use the time to memorize the few dark freckles that were scattered across Sam (like the one on his knee), the sound of Sam's laugh, and the smell that Sam carried around…cheap deodorant and a musty library smell that had soaked into his skin. When Dean died he wanted to remember all the good things about this life, especially his best friend.

* * *

Dean woke up to a dark, quiet room. Sam was draped over Dean's bed, his hand splayed across Dean's chest.

"Oh Sam ehh (oh Sammy)", Dean mumbled as he pulled Sam's hand off his body and dropped it on the mattress. He was still flat on his back and by his estimation would be there for only a few more hours. The pain in his head had subsided a little and his stomach felt full. He was going to let Sam sleep, but another nurse appeared in the doorway and Dean remembered exactly what was going on around him. _Dad is here with Bobby and Missouri and Rougon._

"Hi Dean. I'm Megan and I'm gonna go ahead and start you on the anti-seizure medication okay?". She held up a huge syringe with orange fluid in it. "This goes right into your IV and you might feel a little burn". She was chomping on a huge wad of pink bubble gum that smelled so strongly it made Dean's stomach turn a little. She put the needle into the IV and pushed the meds into the line that led to Dean's hand before she withdrew and tossed it into a sharps container on the wall. "I'll be back in about four hours to do that again, so until then you just rest, kay hun?" She patted Dean's arm and left the room. And as the door clicked Sam woke up.

"Hey", Sam looked up at his brother with sleep in his eyes. "What's going on? You doing okay?"

Dean couldn't help but smile a little, Sam looked like he did as a child waking up in the back seat of the car. "Nurz cam. Gay me annie see jur meh sin (Nurse came. Gave me anti-seizure medicine)".

"Oh yeah? How do you feel?" Sam asked, rubbing the sleep away from his eyes.

"Kay", Dean answered.

And the door swung open again.

* * *

"Hey Boys", John breathed shallowly.

"Hey Dad", Sam's voice was whisper soft.

John looked at Dean. "How you feelin' kiddo?" he asked.

"Kay", Dean answered, not willing to give up too much after the embarrassing breakdown he had earlier and the way his father had refused everything he had asked.

"Can I uh…can I talk to you boys?" He didn't look either in the eye.

"Yeah, Dad. What's up?" Sam sat on the bed next to Dean, a hand on his brother's foot.

"I need to tell you what's been happening and ask you for your help".

Sam nodded and Dean stared.

"Okay", John blew out a deep breath. "Jefferson and I were tracking the demon. We followed the signs and the omens and found the next target. We got the kid, a psychic, into a car and out of town. Down the highway about a hundred miles the demon showed up. Possessed the kid. Jeff got knocked out and I had a little…chat", he took the opportunity to catch his breath, "with the demon. He knew about Dean, about his injuries and he told me he could help. I called the hospital and talked to the doc. He told me the truth and I was just stuck there, hearing what the doctor said and staring at that evil son of a bitch, knowing he could fix this".

"What did you do Dad?" Sam hissed through clinched teeth before looking down at Dean.

"He offered me Dean's health in exchange for the colt and … and my…me", John confessed.

"Tell me you didn't do it", Sam stood and started to pace.

John looked down at his hands and rubbed his palms together, letting his fingers twine between each other. "I did. I made the deal and I gave him the gun".

The words ran through Dean like a flooded river. He heard but he didn't want to believe it. The first thing that he felt was love. His father loved him enough to give his life to save that of his son. Then the disapproval and rage washed over him. How could he do that, place that burden on his son? Dean believed that he wasn't worth the loss. _Let me die and rest and stop failing you both_. He didn't know what to say, so he didn't say anything. He put the walls up and closed his eyes.

Sam looked at Dean. "Hey. Dean. Hey, look at me, man. Open your eyes and look at me".

He did what Sam asked, opening his eyes and focusing on the blur he had come to recognize as Sammy.

"You okay?" Sam asked, concern lacing his voice.

"M'kay", Dean mumbled.

"You sure? You look a little pale", Sam looked up at the heart monitor. It wasn't racing. Dean was an eerie calm. Sam had never seen him like this, but John had. It was the same thing that happened when Mary died: Dean closed off and hid himself from the world.

"Dean", John started, but Sam cut him off.

"Shut up Dad. We don't need anymore help", Sam barked at his father.

"No Sam. You're not going to throw one of your tantrums and derail this whole damn thing. You're gonna listen tome for a change. Rougon is here because he can fix this", John was gasping for air as he made his case. "He's going to save your brother and get me out of this deal". A ragged breath, "Look, I know I keep screwing up and I am sorry, but I do what I do because I'm trying to be a good father. I'll go, but Rougon will be back soon and we have to get started".

John stood up and walked over to the bed. He brushed the back of his hand against Dean's cheek, but Dean turned away from his fathers touch and closed his eyes again. John just nodded and walked out of the room. He knew that after twenty two years he had finally pushed too hard, asked too much, and lost Dean.

* * *

Rougon was leaned against the wall just outside of Dean's room waiting for John, green rope in his hands, twisting and knotting and braiding.

"You told them the truth. Thank you. It makes what has to be done so much easier", the mysterious man told him.

"You really believe this is going to work?" John asked hopefully.

"I know it will". Simple as that, no vacillation, no hesitation: he was certain.

"When do we do this?" John was trying to maintain his composure, hold his broken heart together long enough to get this done. He was in Marine mode. 'Orders given, formulate a plan, execute plan, never compromise the mission, no man left behind.' He was hiding behind his training and hiding from himself.

Rougon stared at him for a moment before he spoke, reading the lines on his face and the shadows in his eyes. "We can begin when your friends have returned. But I feel I must tell you again John. We must all come into this with open minds and hearts", he tapped John on the chest.

John glared at the man and then glanced Missouri and Bobby over his shoulder. "Come on. We gotta get this thing going, we don't have much time", he waved at the pair then turned and forced his way back into Dean's room.

* * *

Ten minutes of rambling around the room, hands outstretched, humming something low and guttural, the voodoo priest finally deemed the room an acceptable haven for his rituals and locked the door. He placed apples and herbs and small sachets around the room, counting steps between them, warning not to touch them.

Dean laid silent and still in his bed, facing the ceiling, avoiding John's eyes. Rougon stood at the foot of the bed and spoke to the audience he held.

"You are all here for the same reason", his eyes fell squarely on John in an ominous fashion. "Love. You are here because you have love in your hearts for those around you. You are here to proffer that love so as to save two lives. Lives of loved ones, weather you love them openly or love that is hidden from the world. We must save these lives so they may continue their work in this battle of good and evil".

No one made a sound. Rougon's voice rolled through the room and over its inhabitants like thunder, not only heard but felt.

"Dean will be our focus more than any other. Today you will summon to him the strength to heal himself. And as his body is mended he will take on the burden of another's soul", Rougon stopped. Jaws dropped, mouths hung slack, a pin drop would have been a deafening sound. "Today you will bind yourself to your father. One soul bound and tied to another in a union unbreakable unless by the choice of both", he told Dean. "This will tie you to one another for eternity. His soul may not be collected if he is not the sole owner. The eternal connection will satisfy the darkness of his deal, binding your fates, while the purity you possess and share with your father will liberate him".

Dean didn't know what to do or say. His head and his heart were fighting it out. On one hand he wanted nothing to do with his father, a man who ignored Dean's dying wishes and placed the burden of his life and his brothers on his shoulders. And yet the other hand was weighed down by the fact that this man had given him life and salvaged it countless times, he had provided for him as a father, taught him as a mentor, allied him as a friend, and given eternity for him. It was no contest, and truthfully Dean couldn't find it in himself to turn away form his father. So he looked at the priest before him and gave a subtle nod.

"Samuel, take your brothers left hand, and John, please hold his right", he instructed. "You have a greater love for this man than any other. You give him strength and resilience and love, and today will be no different. You will serve as a strong conduit and guide him as you have in the past".

Sam moved around the side of the bed and grabbed Dean's hand, giving it a squeeze. John followed suit, taking his son's limp hand and holding it in his own, whispering a confession of love and shame as he did. "I love you son and I am so sorry for what I put you through all these years. I'm sorry". It was spoken softly, carried on the skirt of a breath and both men felt sure no one else had witnessed the exchange.

"Robert and Missouri. As an extension of this family, you will be an extension of the power and the healing. Please join me in completing this circle and saving this life".

The odd pair stepped forward, taking the hands of John and Sam and Rougon. Bobby didn't say a word, but nodded at John in a gesture of cessation of their differences.

The five bodies stood surrounding Dean, holding onto each others hands and the hope that Dean would make it through. There was an energy thrumming through the room, electrifying the air and igniting the dark corners of all of their souls.

Rougon shifted on his feet, moving left to right as his eyes dropped closed and indistinguishable words fell from his lips.

_Aimer…coeur…gens…garder…sauver _(love…heart…boy…to keep/to watch…save)

As Rougon spoke, Dean's good hand gripped Sam's tightly, the pressure increasing with every word.

_De nos jours…ame…maladif…blessure…aider _(in our time…soul…sickly…wound…help)

And as the last word left the priests mouth Dean's heart monitor started to sing its ominous, high pitched tune. His hand fell from Sam's grip and his back arched. The room held still, panic paralyzing everyone but Dean, until his eyes rolled back in his head and he left his family.

* * *

Dean was conscious of three things: someone was calling his name – a familiar voice, the room smelled awful – like rotten fruit and burning grass, and Sam was holding his arm. He knew it was Sam. He knew the length of his brothers fingers, the same ones that used to pull him from his own slumber for comfort after the boy had a nightmare, and he could smell the distinct scent of Sam mixed with cheap soap and coffee.

The voice just kept calling. _Dean? Dean can you hear me? I want you to open your eyes and look at me Dean._ Then he could hear discussions and arguments around the room. Rougon was handling a nurse, _Maim I would have to ask you to refrain from removing those items. They have been placed there for a reason._ Further away he could hear Bobby duking it out with what he assumed was a cop or hosipital security, _I'm their uncle and I approved of all of this. We can have who we want here. We didn't break no damn rules, so take a walk Barney Fife_. He didn't hear his father, but knew he was somewhere in the mess.

People were touching him. A small hand took his wrist, measuring his pulse. Another hand rubbed his sternum. And Sam's hand held his arm, thumb tracing small circles on pale skin.

He pried his eyes open, immediately wishing he hadn't as the florescent lights assaulted him. Then as he focused, he realized he could see. No fuzz, no clouds, no black spots. He could see. He tried to survey things while the doctor started poking and prodding. The migraine that had been squeezing his brain was gone and the dull ache in his belly and back were gone. And when he shifted on the bed he moved his right leg.

"Do you think you can sit up for me, Dean?" It was Joseph Naylor, the voice that had called him out of his sleep.

The charming grin that had graced Dean's face for twenty-six years then disappeared after the accident, came back. His lips curled up as he reached for the bed railing and pulled himself up before Sam could move to help him. Dean looked Sam right in the eye.

Sam caught it. His brother was using his arm. "How do you feel Dean"?

Dean's smile grew wider. "Like I've found my way home after being gone for a long time, Sammy".

"Shit", Sam's face was smeared with a smile. "You can talk, Dude".

"Guess Rougon's mojo worked", Dean offered.

"Dean", the doctor broke in after witnessing the young man's corrected speech. "How do you feel".

"Good. I feel good", he told the doctor.

"I'm a little confused. Not three hours ago you couldn't speak or move your right side. Tell me, how is your vision?" The doctor pressed.

"Clear as day, Doc", Dean told the white coat.

"Well, why don't we take a look and then get a scan to see where we're at with the bleed and the edema".

The doctor gave Dean an eye exam, stepping close then further and further away as he asked Dean to relay the number of fingers he held up. He followed by asking Dean to squeeze his hand and hold a pen and push his hand down with his foot.

"I can't explain the twenty twenty vision or the mobility. But maybe the scan will show us something. I'll send an orderly to take you down stairs soon. You just rest and take it easy for now". Naylor smiled at Sam as he left the room.

Dean scanned the room. It was empty, save Sam and his father who stood quietly by the door, hands shoved deep into his pockets.

"I'll go and get the others and we can finish this", John said, not meeting Dean's gaze. He stalked out of the room allowing the door to close softly behind him.

When Dean looked at Sam he was studying the floor, head slumped to his chest. "You okay over there Sammy?"

Sam looked up, eyes shinning and cheeks flush. "Yeah, I just…I thought I was going to lose you Dean. I thought you were gonna die here and I wouldn't be able to stop it and I'd have to sit here and watch you suffer". He ran a hand over his face, rubbing each wet eye. "I thought you were gonna leave me here alone. I thought that damn demon was going to take away whats left of my family". He started to cry softly.

"Hey, hey", Dean whispered, "Don't fall apart on me now. We've gotten this far because of you. Now let's get Dad and the freak parade back in here and finish this thing".

"Yeah, okay", Sam pulled out his phone and called Bobby.

**Will Dean really make it? Is John man enough to face his son and ask him to save his soul? Will Bobby beat the living snot out of John? Does Missouri have plans for the Winchesters? And Rougon…will he invite Sam and Dean back to New Orleans for a wild night on Bourbon Street (I wouldn't do it…it's a tourist thing)? Is Sam gonna give Daddy dearest a piece of his mind and a taste of his fist??? Come on back soon and we will find out together. (Really…I have no idea till I sit in front of the blank screen and concentrate).**

**Ahh..another installment. Do you guys like it? I feel like it is finally coming to an end. And I've got this other thing poking me in the back of my brain, begging to be released, so as soon as I can I want to get it out!! I think we probably only have one chapter left here, so enjoy it while you can! I love reviews, so please leave them!!**


	21. How To Save A Life

**New Chapter...sorry if its a little long. There is a gift at the end for all you fine readers. Now...about the spoiler I apperntly let rip...sorry if i ticked anyone off. I'll be more careful in the future. But i do still plan to obliterate someone in fiction.**

He always thought he knew everything about his father._ He had never taken off his wedding ring…not even once. He wore a size 11 ½ wide shoe. He knew his father cried every year on his childrens birthdays. He took his coffee with cream. He shaved his face from right to left, although really he preferred a beard because it aided in anonymity. He loved Sam more than he ever let on. Reality sacred him._ But Dean was realizing that maybe all of these things didn't mean he knew his father, just that they had become comfortable with each other as adults and revealed intimate parts of themselves. He didn't think he knew the hunter who asked him to kill his own brother. He felt like he had never met this man who had denied him his dying wishes. He was sure he had never become acquainted with this person who had laid the weight of the world on his shoulders and never even blinked. Sure John always relied on Dean to take care of he and Sammy, but what he had done to Dean now was more than Dean could deal with. He just didn't want to believe that his father had done what he did.

"So, if they bind their souls, does that mean that if one of them dies the other one will too?" Sam asked hesitantly.

"The binding of their souls will not damn either. Their choices are still their own. Repercussions will be felt only by the offending soul. What we do here today will hurt no one, only help." Rougon tried to speak reassuringly as he pulled a stick of incense, a small blade, and more herbs from his satchel.

"What are you going to do?" Dean spoke up.

"You and your father will share blood, literally".

"You're not going to hurt him", Sam stepped in front of Dean in a show of possession and protection.

"Calm yourself Samuel", Rougon waved a hand in front of Sam. "You father and brother will share a sanctified blood bond to seal the incantation and bind their souls. I assure you, no harm will be brought to anyone".

"Sit down Sammy. It's okay", Sam could feel Deans hand on his arm. When he looked back at his brother sitting on the edge of the bed next to their father, he saw trust in Dean's eyes and had to believe him.

"Now", Rougon started as he lit the incense and used the end to stab the apple in front of him. "John and Dean, please take each others hands".

The two elder Winchesters did as told. The Priest closed his eyes and started more of his nearly inaudible ramblings.

De nos jours… vieux garcon… pere… amier… ame (in our time…son…father…love…soul)

The Priest reached forward and picked up the blade. Sam watched him carefully, shifting his weight back and forth. Rougon took Dean and John's joined hands and parted them. The blade came slowly down to John's palm first. He didn't slice the skin, but pricked it to draw a small round swell of blood. He carefully did the same to Dean before pressing their hands back together. He continued on to take the ashes that had fallen from the incense and parting the hands where blood had mingled, he mixed the ash in, continuing his chanting. Then he suddenly pulled John's shirt open and placed Dean's bloodied hand over his father's chest.

Amener…avoir besion…recevoir…ame…deux virer un…amier (take…in need…receive…soul…two become one…love)

Dean's eyes snapped shut and John's flew wide open. Dean was accepting his father's soul as a part of him and with his soul, came all of the truths that John hid from the world. He couldn't breathe as he was assaulted. Images flashed in front of Dean. Images that comforted him, images that hurt his own heart, and images that terrified him.

When the flood stopped Dean could finally breathe again and he dropped his hand.

"We are done here", Rougon spoke softly. "Please do not take for granted how precious what you share is. Strong hearts joined as a strong family. You must always believe in each other and trust one another".

And then, as quietly as Rougon Bishop came into their lives, he walked out.

"Thanks Bishop", John called to the door as he gathered himself and buttoned his shirt.

Rougon turned and smiled a comforting smile and spoke softly in his native language. The words fell from his lips and to the unknowing Winchesters it sounded kind.

"Fou fils de putain (crazy son of a bitch)".

John just smiled back, believing it was a kind parting or some sort of blessing. _Yeah_

* * *

Sam went into protection mode instantly. He started looking over Dean and wiping the blood from his hand. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah", he was hesitant, not looking at his brother. "Can you give me and Dad a minute?"

"Yeah sure. I'll go find Missouri and Bobby", he touched the top of his brother's hand then turned and left.

Dean looked down at the red stain on his hand and then slowly let his eyes fall on his father. He knew things now that his father had known all along. Things his father had lied to others about under the pretense of being completely honest. He knew things about Sammy and Mary. He knew too much and still not enough.

"Dad?"

John turned to Dean.

"What happened when I was three?"

John knew instantly what Dean was referring to. "No son, you were four. Your mother died when you were four", he dodged.

"That's not what I'm talking about Dad". Dean's eyes welled with anger and frustration as he pulled at a lone string on his blanket. "With mom and me and…what was wrong with me? What happened?"

"I don't know what you're talking about Dean. Maybe you should rest for a little while", John reached out to run his hand along his son's cheek. But Dean jerked away.

"I saw dad. Now tell me what happened".

John took a deep breath and weighed his options. Dean was grown, he had saved his fathers soul…he could tell him now.

"You were a few weeks shy of your third birthday and up to that point everything had been fine. You were a good baby, a happy toddler. You were always so full of energy and laughing constantly. Your mother loved you more than she loved me. I'd never seen her as happy as when she was taking care of you". John rubbed the graying beard on his chin and looked down as he continued.

"Then one day the laughing stopped and we weren't sure why. We'd ask and you never told us anything was wrong. So your mother took you to the pediatrician who sent you to a specialist". A tear came to John's eye and fell into the stubble on his cheek. "When I got home that night your mother was sitting in the dark, holding you and rocking you. There were pamphlets all over the floor around the rocker. When I asked her what was wrong, she wouldn't say anything, she just started crying and holding you tighter to her body. So I turned on the lights and picked up one of the pamphlets and I understood".

"What? What was it Dad?" Dean urged him to continue.

"The doctor told your mother you had cancer. Lymphoma. He didn't give her much hope that you'd live to see four years old", John explained.

"Holy shit", Dean gasped.

"Now, I didn't know about anything she had done till about a year ago", John prefaced. "She had a friend who was…well…Victoria was into dark arts and things. They got together one night and she taught your mother how to summon a demon. And when she did, the yellow eyed demon showed up".

John took a deep breath and stared Dean in the eye as he spoke now. "She made a deal to save you. He only told her that one day he would come to collect and that she wouldn't be able to deny him what he asked".

"Mom", Dean mumbled.

"She never knew he would ask for Sammy. Never thought he would kill her and make him a psychic. Your mother was a good woman. She never meant for any of this to happen".

Dean thought of his mother and all the trips they'd take around Lawrence when he was younger. Looking back now he thought he could remember the trip to the doctors office and the way Mary had smothered and coddled him in the dark as she cried. He felt sure in his heart that she would have told him when he was old enough to understand. _But not his father._

"So you never told me that I was mysteriously healed of terminal cancer? You never thought to tell me or Sam that mom had a friend like that? And you knew…you knew for the last year about all of this". Dean was screaming now, arms flying around, head bobbing. "I have been driving around for the last twelve months with Sam trying to figure out why he has these visions, why he is the way he is, why his life is ruined. And all along you knew. You knew and you saw what it was doing to both of us and you never said anything".

Dean hung his head, trying to make his decision, then looked back up to his father.

"I want you to leave. I don't need you here and God knows Sam never has", Dean stood up and pointed to the door. "Get out and don't come back here. If you really believe that you care you'll leave us alone".

"Dean…" John stepped forward.

It came down so hard and fast and unexpected. Dean reared back and swung a powerful right hook that landed square on his fathers jaw, knocking him to the floor. John inched back, a palm to his face, then stood on shaking legs. He stared Dean in the eye and saw the resolve and obstinence he had taught his son, and knew he had no choice. He turned back to the chair and picked up jacket then moved to the door. He opened it and stood defeated in the threshold. "I'm sorry son", he whispered, then disappeared.

* * *

Dean was sitting quietly on the edge of his bed facing the window when Sam came through the door with Dr. Naylor.

"Hey, Missouri and Bobby said they'd be back tomorrow", Sam called his attention, "Where's Dad?"

Dean cleared his throat, "He left for a while. What's going on?"

Sam thumbed at Naylor.

"I want to do a scan and then we need to talk about that stint we put in", Naylor told Dean.

Dean reached back and touched the back of his head, feeling the thin bump at the base of his skull, "yeah okay".

Sam thought his brother looked a little flush, "You alright Dean?"

"Yeah…always", Dean offered his brother one of his trademark grins.

"Okay", Naylor interrupted. "Lets get you down to radiology and have a look and then we can get things going".

Dean stood up and pulled the IV stand around the bed. He was headed fo rhte door when Naylor stopped him in his tracks. "Sorry Dean. You've got to ride in a wheelchair. Hospital policy."

"I can do that". Dean was already weak in the knees, drained by his emotions, and put up no fight.

A nurse appeared with a chair and took Dean away. He was gone for thirty minutes before he was brought back to Sam. The doctor left him to go and look over the results.

"Where'd Dad go off to? I wanted to talk to him about getting the colt back". Sam was talking but Dean wasn't really listening. "Hello? Dean? Are you listening to me?"

Dean didn't meet his brother's eyes. He just climbed back into the bed he had been confined to not so long ago. He rolled over on his side and closed his eyes. "I'm tired Sam. Just let me sleep".

Sam heard the defeated tone in his brothers voice and his own heart fell. "Yeah, absolutely. You should get some rest".

Sam dropped into the chair next to the bed, feeling a little like they were back peddling, and used his phone to call his father. But as usual, John didn't answer, it just rolled over to the voicemail.

Dean had fallen asleep and into another dream. This one far less cryptic than any of the others. He was in the house in Lawrence, watching Mommy stir a pot of something hot. A man in a dark coat came into the kitchen and sat down next to Dean. There were tears in Mommy's eyes as the man touched Deans chest. Dean saw himself perk up instantly. Mommy yelled for the man to leave and the man hit Mommy, telling her that the price had just gone up. He reached out and touched Mommy's stomach, laughing manically before he disappeared.

* * *

"I don't know what you and that strange man were doing in here earlier, and I almost don't believe it, but you're fine Dean. No edema, no bleed. You are dare I say, one of the healthiest men I've seen in a long time."

Dean hadn't said anything since he'd woken up. Sam wanted to believe that his brother was tired form all of the things he'd been through, but something just wasn't right. Dean had woken up with a start and wouldn't tell Sam anything. Right now all Sam wanted to do was get his brother out of there and get back to being themselves.

"So", Naylor interrupted again, "what are you doing tomorrow?"

"Excuse me?" Dean asked, confused by the man's odd question.

"The stint still needs to be removed. I can get you back in the OR tomorrow morning around seven. If you're not busy". Naylor was trying to be funny but Dean wasn't laughing and Sam wasn't even looking at him. "It'll only take about an hour and you'll be out before you know it".

"That's fine", Dean said.

Sam was a little surprised that Dean didn't look to him before he made the decision, but it was ultimately Dean's choice, so he went with what his brother wanted.

"Alright. The nurse will come for you around six and I'll see you at seven". Naylor nodded at the boys in salutation and left.

"You hungry? We can get you some real food. Maybe a burger?" Sam asked.

"Sure, that's fine". Sam had expected Dean to jump at the chance to have some solid food.

"Are you sure you're okay Dean?"

"I'm just tired Sam". Dean looked up to see worry written all over Sam's face. He could see Sam wavering. "But maybe I'll feel better after I eat something".

Sam perked up immediately. "Good. Cheeseburger, right?" Sam asked as he slipped his jacket on and dug the keys to the Ford out.

"Sure", Dean said, smiling his best 'do what Sammy needs you to do' smile. "Just wake me up when you get back".

And Sam left.

Dean was alone with the truth he knew. He had to make some decisions, and it had to be soon. Should he tell Sam what he knew…what their father knew? Could he tell Sammy what John had asked him to do or that he had sent their father away? He turned it over in his brain over and over. But in the end, his heart made the decision. He thought about Sam and what the kid meant to him and how he would handle all of this and weather or not Dean could pull him through.

* * *

Sam left the hospital on a high, happy thoughts running through his head. _Dean's gonna live. Score one for the good side. Demon doesn't get my best friend._ He was being careful, driving five below the speed limit and minding the ice warnings on the radio. The road was narrow and he watched the shoulders and driveways carefully. That's when he saw his father's truck parked in front of a cheap motel that shared its parking lot with a truck stop. He had anger in his heart for his father, anger over the deal he had made and the fact that he had put that weight on Dean's shoulders. But his family had just been reunited, his fathers soul was saved, and his brother was going to live. So he pulled off. He was thinking John should come back to the hospital with him…they could all eat dinner together. _Like the old days_.

Sam parked the whale-of-a-sedan and knocked on the motel door. When knuckles met wood, he called his father, "Dad. It's me, let me in." He waited but no answer came, so he knocked again, harder this time. He called his father by his name, "John! Open the door".

Something caught in Sam's chest, he felt a river of cold and fear wash over him. He looked into the lone window on the room and realized the shades were not drawn. _That's not like Dad_. He saw a line of salt on the sill and let out a deep breath. He banged again on the door and received no answer from the other side. He suddenly felt a wave of 'Dean' hit him. He stepped back and kicked the door in.

The salt line in front of the door had been broken…kicked. He felt his heart race and sweat poor down his brow, despite the bitter cold that surrounded him. He had no gun, he'd opted not to carry a piece while he was in the hospital with Dean. _Shit._ He pulled his pocket knife out of his jeans and whipped it open, the brand name 'Winchester' emblazoned on the handle. He crept slowly around the duffels on the floor and the door that hung loosely from the doorframe.

He held the knife in the air, just above his chest in a defensive position as he stepped around the end of the queen size bed.

"Holy Shit! Dad!" Sam dropped his knife and lunged to the floor. He wrapped long arms around his father's shoulders and pulled him close. "Dad? Come on, look at me Dad! You gotta open your eyes Dad!"

But John didn't. Sam just kept calling his father's name and shaking him in an effort to rouse him. But John didn't answer him and Sam could feel that familiar sense of loss and darkness creeping into his heart again.

**OMG – WTF!! (By the way, I want a license plate that says that). I swore I wouldn't kill John and now you're all mad and steam is coming out of your ears! Put the chair down, don't throw it! And please…bring no harm to your computers! I didn't do it. He's not dead…but I know you all thought he was. I said I wouldn't do it. I won't do it. Everyone breathe.**

**But that was fun, right? The shock, the horror, the anger. Sorry, I had to do it. But at least I told you!!**

**So maybe two more chapters. I just couldn't get out all I wanted to say in this chapter so I need an extra one! Hope you like it! Please send me reviews…they make my muse happy. And when my muse is happy he dies this little dance and…well…we all remember who my muse looks like right?**

**And last…Jumper thinks its great that I speak Cajun French and English and says its cool I can drop some in my story. So I am going to teach him to say certain phrases and I thought you guys might enjoy it too! So here are some SUPERNATURAL/DEAN & SAM appropriate words in my (other) native tounge.**

**Son of a bitch – Fils de putain (cause it's Dean's favorite expression)**

**Ghost – revenant**

**Werewolf – rougarou**

**Rock salt – sel de roc**

**Happy Hunting!! You guys rock!!**


	22. Guilt and Wild Turkey

**Yeah, It took forever, but I swear I had a good reason! So for now just read and enjoy…and keep reviewing and rocking my sox!!**

Sam pulled his father closer, listening for signs of life, breathing a sigh of relief as he heard his father take a raspy breath. And as John blew the air past his lips Sam could smell the alcohol on his father. He looked around and saw the near empty bottle of Wild Turkey on the floor a few feet from his fathers form. All the long nights he'd spent as a small child, huddled against Dean as their father drank to wash away his pain, came flooding back to Sam. John would drink whiskey from a short glass, but as the nights wore on he would drink from the bottle as he stumbled around talking about Mary and what he couldn't do for his children because she was gone. He would bump into chairs and tables before falling to the ground where he would stay, yelling now because he was angry and so alone. He never hit either of his sons, not once, but he would go after Dean, dragging him out of bed and demanding he clean weapons and do push ups, all the while preaching the importance of always being ready. Dean always complied and Sam never understood why.

"Jesus Dad", a look of disgust washed over Sam's face. He gripped his father's arms and pulled him onto bed behind them. "After everything that's happened this is what you go and do?" Sam stared, almost expecting an answer to dribble from John's wet lips. "You can't stay out of trouble and away from the bottle long enough to be there for your son, can you?" Sam shook his head, trying to maneuver John to lie back. "Same old shit", he mumbled.

John's eyes opened wide as though he was seeing Sam for the first time since he came into the room. He pushed his son's hands away and took the boys face in his calloused palms, "Sammy", he rasped. "Oh my little boy, I love yousomuch. You're the last guh thang I ever done", he slurred and his words ran together.

Sam batted his father's hands away and stared in disbelief. How could his father talk to him that way? He'd shared twenty-three horrific, up close and personal, years with this man and he could barely remember a time when his father was so open. So why now?

"What's going on Dad?" Sam asked, trying to be as patient as he possibly could.

John looked into Sam's eyes and remembered what Dean had told him. He slid back on the mattress and put a hand up to his son. "You gotta go Sammy". He waved his hand to the door, adding credence to his statement.

"What?" Sam was confused and beyond exhausted. "Why should I leave?"

"Gotta go Sammy. Dean doesn't want me around and you gotta go. Can't be with your old man anymore. Dean's orders".

The weight of what he was saying and the gravity of the situation was starting to sober John up. The clarity in his eyes and the steadiness of his father's voice scared Sam.

"You aren't making any sense at all Dad. Tell me what's going on", Sam pled, but it fell on deaf ears as John continued in his tirade.

"You have to trust Dean, Sammy. Listen to what he says and follow his orders. But watch out for him, too. He's gonna need you around right now", John told his youngest.

"Would you stop rambling and tell me what the hell is going on", Sam demanded, pacing in front of his father. Then John snapped.

He stood and forced his weight on Sam, pushing Sam toward the door. "Time for you to leave", he yelled. Sam just stared. "Go on, get outta here. Leave me alone Sam. Go away, go where you're needed".

Sam didn't know what to do other than leave. He'd never won an argument with his father and the last one had ended much the same way…Sam walking out the door at his fathers insistence.

Sam left the room, looking back at his father who was perched on the corner of the bed now, staring at the opposing wall. He would figure this out later, when John had sobered up and had his head on straight.

* * *

Dean was sitting in front of the window, searching out patterns in the car-filled parking lot below him._ three blue cars in a row, one white, three more red._ He was trying to get away from what he knew. From the fact that all along they had believed that the demon had come into their lives by chance and that Sam was a victim of random evil, but he knew now that it wasn't the truth. He struggled with the idea that his entire life was a joke. He'd been trying to protect Sam since that cold night in November that had been licked by flame, but the truth of it was that Sam wouldn't have needed protecting if it hadn't have been for Dean. The hunts, the days at a time in the car, settling into a new town just to leave it too soon, holidays and birthdays missed or ignored. It all could have been so different if Dean had been different.

The burgers were barely warm when Sam got back to find Dean propped up in front of the window.

"You watching for Santa Clause?" Sam asked.

"Nah", Dean shrugged but didn't turn around. "Just getting out of the bed for a while".

"Kay", Sam raised an eyebrow at Dean's tone and demeanor. "I got your burger if you're ready for it", Sam held the brown, grease stained bag in the air.

"Yeah, sure", Dean finally turned around and looked at Sam. Sam saw his brother's bloodshot eyes and knew he had been crying, but wasn't going to push it now.

The two sat quietly in the cold hospital room and ate greasy cheeseburgers and cold fries. Dean ate slowly, a distant look in his eye, half hazardly shoving oversized bites into his mouth and swallowing hard around his food that he failed to chew enough.

"Chew it Dean, or you're gonna choke", Sam warned with humor in his voice.

"Sorry", Dean squeezed out.

"Don't apologize to me", Sam quipped, "I'm not the one who's gonna cash in his tab early cause he can't properly chew his food".

"Leave it alone, Sammy", Dean whispered.

Sam didn't know what had happened to put Dean in this funk, but he worried if he didn't get him out of it, they would both pay for it later.

"You okay man? Your head bothering you still?" Sam asked, concern lacing his voice.

Dean was sitting on the bed with the tray in front of him. "Don't want to talk about it Sam. Just leave me alone". He pushed the tray away and rolled on his side away from Sam.

Sam's pulse started to race. He immediately jumped to the conclusion that Dean wasn't really better, that the voodoo doctor hadn't done his job. "Hey", Sam dropped his own burger and walked around the bed. He crouched in front of Dean, "your heads okay, isn't it? You'd tell me if it wasn't."

"My head's fine, Sam", Dean rolled onto his back. He couldn't look Sam in the eyes anymore.

"Then what is it Dean? Just tell me…we'll work it out", Sam begged.

Dean didn't even look at his brother who was towering over him with his hands on his hips. "This isn't something you can fix with your chick lingo and talking about your feelings". Dean paused and closed his eyes for a brief moment. "You can't fix this Sammy. It's done." Dean rolled onto his other side, facing the window, and dismissed his brother, "Now just go away and let me sleep. I'm tired".

Sam couldn't argue. He didn't know what he would be arguing for or against. Both his father and brother had told him to go away, they both wanted him to leave them alone. He'd sleep on it, face his brother after he got some rest. And as the stress of the day and the exhaustion brought by its events pulled Sam into a deep sleep, he couldn't shake the feeling that one was definitely tied to the other.

* * *

Dean woke up around two a.m. from another confusing dream. Sam and John had stood in a brightly painted kitchen with Mary seated at a table to the right. A girl with flowing blonde hair sat next to their mother, cradling an infant in her arms. His father and brother were holding coffee cups and talking quietly as the women fawned over the child.

"You hungry Dean?" the younger woman asked as the baby started to cry. "Let's feed you, huh? You wanna eat, baby boy?" She cooed and soothed the baby.

Sam smiled at her. Then turned his attention to his father. "Thank you Sam", John said clapping his son on the shoulder.

"For what?" Sam stared intently at his father.

"The name. It means a lot to your mother and I", John stared longingly at his grandson. "I just wish you could have known him. For such a sick little guy, your brother was a force to be reckoned with".

"I remember", Sam quirked his head to the right. "At least I think I do. I remember playing on a bed with another kid. I guess that was Dean. Ya know, right before it got him". Sam looked down into his coffee cup.

"Yeah, he was a good big brother for those few months you guys had. He really loved you". John smiled at the memory.

"Well, like Jess says, I'll met him one day. Then we'll have all the time in the world to get to know each other".

John dropped his cup as the baby cried out. And Dean woke up.

* * *

Sam scrubbed his face as he woke up. He looked at his watch, _5:57_, then at Dean who was already awake. He leaned forward and heard his back crack. He stretched his arms over his head and stood up, silently cursing the chair he had slept so awkwardly in. He wasn't frightened like he had been when they had done this dance before, but his gut was twisted. He walked the three steps to Dean's side and took in the blank look on his brothers face.

"How ya doing?" he asked softly.

"I'm fine", Dean's response was a little cold, definitely detached.

"Okay, well", Sam tried to ignore the way Dean kept himself removed from the situation, "They'll be here in a few minutes to take you down to the OR. It won't be like last time. Just a quick procedure. Go in, get the stint out, and we can leave as soon as your ready".

"Okay". Dean never looked him in the eye.

"Dean are you sure you're okay? Cause if you're not we can put this off for a little while. We can wait until…" And Sam was cut off by a soft voice and Tina's familiar face.

"Good morning boys", she whispered, pushing a wheelchair into the room. "You ready to go Dean?" she asked.

"Yeah, lets go". He pulled the covers back and slipped out of the bed, his hospital issue gown tied tightly at his back.

Tina held the chair still as Dean sat down and put his feet up on the foot rest. She smiled at Sam and turned the chair so she could pull him out of the door backward. "We'll be on the fifth floor, same waiting room", she told Sam.

"Hey", Sam spoke loudly. "I'll be right there when you wake up. Last step, Dean". His eyes were glazed, that familiar fear filling his chest again. But his brother didn't even look up at him, just waved a hand in the air as he slipped out of the door.

Sam stood in the dark, alone. He had held everything together as it started to fall apart and now he didn't even know what was going on anymore. Dean was better, but he was losing whatever grip he had. Dad was drinking like a lush again and mumbling that Dean didn't want him around anymore. And Sam, Sam just couldn't figure it out, couldn't wrap his brain around what could have happened to change things.

He dialed his father's number and listened to the line ring seven times before it rolled over to voicemail. Sam huffed a deep breath. He was confident that his father was lying in a bed somewhere, hung over, and oblivious to the fact that Dean was having surgery this morning. Maybe some things just never change.

He sat on Dean's bed, taking deep breaths and trying to collect himself. He gave it five minutes before he got up and dragged himself out of the room and to the fifth floor waiting room. He had been so scared of this place at one point, now it was familiar, and truth be told, what was going on behind those double doors was far less of a problem than what was happening inside his screwed up family.

He drank two cups of coffee and talked to Bobby on the phone for a few minutes. _the house is there when you boys are ready._ He sat quietly after that, concentrating on Dean, thinking about how they would finally leave the hospital, how he would help rebuild the car, how he would do whatever he had to do to get things back to normal.

It took about an hour and half and Naylor came out to check in and take Sam back to see Dean.

"It was very simple and everything went off without a hitch. We made a very small incision at the base of his skull and removed the stint. He has a few stitches that'll need to be removed later and he may have a little swelling in his neck, but other than that he should be fine. Good to go home in a day or two if there are no complications". Naylor smiled at Sam, glad to give him good news for a change.

"So he's good? I can see him now?" Sam asked as he inched closer to the double doors that hid his brother from him.

Naylor furrowed his brow and looked around, making sure no one else would hear him. "I think your brother might be having some issues with the accident you had, when your father was shot. When we were putting him under he kept saying 'it's my fault, it's my fault'. We tried to calm him down, but he's been mumbling since they brought him into recovery".

"Okay", Sam was completely thrown. Nothing was Dean's fault. Dean had stepped in front of the demon, saved Sam, and kept Sam from shooting their father in the last stand off. Dean was a hero, not a rogue. Sam shook his head, Dean never saw things that way and probably never would.

"Well thank you", Sam shook the doctors hand, "I'm gonna go check on him and I'm sure we'll see you before we leave".

Naylor nodded and clapped Sam on the back before walking away, his smile a mile wide, pride swelling in his chest at another life saved.

* * *

It was nowhere near the nightmare it had been the first time Dean had surgery. He wasn't puffed out like a blowfish, monitors weren't strapped all over his body, he wasn't wrapped like a mummy…He just looked like a tired, roughed up Dean.

Sam sat down and tried to talk to Dean, but Dean was just mumbling apologies and asking for forgiveness. Sam didn't understand it and it made his heart ache. But he forced his own feelings down and sat stoically at his brother's side.

Dean spent three hours in recovery before they sent him back to his room on the second floor. He had been out of surgery for eighteen hours and things were strained and uncomfortable. At Sam's insistence and pleading eyes, Dean ate jello and then an entire meal. He followed it with some coffee later and made two trips to the bathroom. He didn't say much when Sam tried to talk to him, just one word responses, really. He drifted in and out of sleep and barely gave notice when Naylor came by to check on him. He just rolled form his side to flat on his back and told Naylor his was fine.

The good doctor checked his vitals, flashed a penlight in his eyes, looked at the clean stitches on the back of his head, and told him everything looked good. Dean didn't respond to him.

That's when Naylor met Sam's eyes across the bed and nodded in the direction of the door.

"I'll be right back", he told Dean. But again, Dean didn't respond. Just rolled back onto his side, away from his brother and the physician.

In the hall, Naylor was far more honest and upfront with Sam than he would have wanted him to be.

"I've seen patients go through this before Sam. Whatever Dean is going through, you have to help him, because at this rate it's only going to make things worse. Physically and emotionally". Naylor looked around him as though he didn't want others to hear his next admission. "And while I don't know what brought him back this time, I don't think there is anything that could pull him through a third round".

Naylor waited, sure Sam would launch, waiting for whatever blowback would come from this seemingly gentle giant.

But Sam didn't bark or yell or swing, he just broke. He leaned back against the wall and dropped his head. Naylor could see the man's chest working hard, forcing air in and out of his lungs at an accelerated rate. And if he hadn't been inching closer to Sam he wouldn't have noticed the way the younger man tried to hide his sniffles.

"I don't…I just don't know", Sam spoke softly. "I'm doing what I can. But he won't talk to me and something happened between him and Dad and I don't know what's going on and their both shutting me out and I can't fix anything". He stood there for a moment, rambling on about nothing that Naylor would understand, but feeling lighter for letting it out anyway.

Naylor gave Sam the warmest smile he had and offered what he could. "Believe me, I know you're doing a lot for Dean. He's been really lucky and I think you have a lot to do with that".

Sam scoffed, he still felt responsible for the accident and everything that had happened.

"Listen", Naylor started, "We're going to release Dean in the morning and you're going to have to keep an eye on him. He's fine physically, but this thing that's dragging him down has to be dealt with. Get him to talk. Reassure him that things are fine, spend time with your Dad and Uncle. Keep his spirits up, the mood light". Naylor clapped Sam on the shoulder, "Just keep doing what you've been doing all along".

"Yeah, Okay", Sam nodded and ran a hand under his nose, sniffling and trying to compose himself.

"Okay. I'll see you tomorrow", Naylor smiled and walked away, leaving Sam to police Dean and his mood.

**Whew-hoo!! Another chapter. Forgive for my extended absence. But I have wonderful news!! I have been offered a job closer to what I really want to do. Right now I write for a small southeastern news publication (my beloved calls me Lois Lane) and I enjoy it, but I could use a change. But to get to the point, I have been offered a job by a publishing company and I'll have to move north and it won't begin until late November, but I have accepted it and I am thrilled!! I've spent the last couple of weeks ironing things out (who knew moving and changing jobs was so much work) and running through my apartment, squeeing like a giddy child! I will not abandon this fiction…in fact I'm itching to write all the time, I just don't have the time to stop and do it!**

**So…I have been asked to bring Dean more physical torture, but really, there is nothing else to torture his poor body with. So…I hope emotional torture and turmoil will do. He will have a REALLY hard time in the next chapter…so perhaps you'll enjoy that. We are getting so close to the end!!! Aghhh!!**

**Jumper says hello. Cripple a guy and suddenly you have to spend all kinds of time with him. I have gotten him hooked on Supernatural…score one more for our fandom!!**

**Have a great weekend and please let me know what you think and let me know if there is something I should include in here…ya know…stuff you want the boys to see or do or say. And John's fate is always a popular subject….**


	23. Just Talk To Me

**Here it is…fast as I could…..**

There was no fanfare, no nurses willing _and itching_ to help Dean, no John, no Bobby, no pomp and circumstance as the brothers left the county hospital for the second time. Just two men piling into an old blue Ford and disappearing down the highway.

Dean had remained quiet, turned in on himself and Sam had nearly given up trying. He brought a towel and Dean's sunglasses in case he needed them for the long ride back to Thomas Singer's old place. Bobby had promised it was ready for them and confirmed it when Sam called him that morning. _There's groceries and beer in the fridge. Some other stuff in the pantry._

The trip was uneventful. Sam listened to the local alternative rock station and tried to keep his eyes on the road. He spared a glance at Dean every so often, but unless his brother's cheeks or nose were going to start talking, he was at a loss. Dean wore the sunglasses that wrapped around his face and never let his brother see his eyes. It was easier that way.

* * *

The house looked the same as it had weeks ago when Sam drove away in search of help for Dean. The old pecan tree still stood proud in the front yard, although now covered with ice and snow, branches hanging low and fruitless. The long driveway was slick with patches of ice and snow, and the house stood, a solid fortress, with tiny ice sickles hanging from the eves and over hangs. Their whole world wore a coat of white.

Sam parked the car under the carport and climbed out. He unlocked the front door, giving Dean time to gather himself and exit the vehicle. They stumbled over each other and into the house, trying to escape the cold outside. Dean dropped his sunglasses and coat on the kitchen table before disappearing into the living room. Sam gave an exasperated huff as he stripped his coat off as he followed Dean.

"You want some lunch?" Sam asked as Dean sat down on the couch and put his feet up.

"Nah. I'm good".

"You gonna talk to me Dean?" Sam asked, hands thrown in the air, an incredulous look on his face.

"Gonna take a nap", Dean replied and rolled over, effectively cutting himself off from his brother and the rest of the world.

And that's the way things went for the next few days. Sam would try to be kind, offer Dean help or comfort, and Dean would push him away, never willing to talk about what was bothering him. It was forty-eight hours of uncomfortable silences and strained, seemingly one-sided conversations. Sam had brought Dean a cup of coffee when he got up later that first afternoon, cooked him dinner around eight o'clock that night. He'd been subtle, but offered Dean the opportunity to talk if he needed to. Dean just ate the chicken and potatoes on his plate and left the table without a word. In the morning Sam woke him up with a cup of coffee and fresh towels. He told him to take a shower that breakfast would be ready when he got out.

"Thanks Sammy", Dean let slip before he vanished from the room, coffee and towels in hand.

Thirty minutes later Sam was putting eggs and biscuits on the table as Dean strode back into the room, slow gait, head down, eyes glued to the floor. Much to Sam's dismay he was dressed for bed again: pajama bottoms and a sweatshirt. Sam assumed he would get dressed. 'Never assume anything with Dean.'

Dean walked to the coffee pot and poured himself a cup before sitting down at the table and covering a plate with eggs and the soft biscuits Sam had baked, fresh from the can. They ate silently. Sam watched his brother the whole time, Dean never looked up from his plate.

Dean insisted on doing the dishes and cleaning things up himself. "I got this. Go do whatever", he mumbled as he turned to the sink and started to slowly wash the skillet. Sam sat in the living room by the window and tried to pay attention to the book in his hands, but his mind kept floating back to Dean and their father.

Dean washed and dried all the dishes, carefully putting them back in the cupboards, before sitting at the table with another cup of coffee. Sam joined him after a few minutes, desperately wanting to save Dean from himself.

"So, it's been awhile since we had snow anywhere", Sam let his mind trail a little. "Not since Cassie and that haunted truck in Missouri".

"Yup", Dean stretched back and put his feet up on the tabletop.

"Speaking of Missouri…she'd find a spoon and go at you if she saw your feet on the table", Sam smiled, his voice light, hoping to draw something, 'anything', out of Dean.

"Sorry", Dean looked so sad as he took his socked feet off the table and rubbed them together on the floor.

"No, no Dean", Sam felt awful. "I wasn't telling you to get your feet off the table. I was trying to talk to you man". Sam's desperation was palpable. "Just talk to me, please".

Dean stood and grabbed his coffee cup. "Nothin' to talk about", Dean said as he placed his cup in the sink, porcelain meeting aluminum. He didn't give Sam a second look, just walked out of the kitchen and into the living room. He laid down on the couch and turned on the television in the corner.

Sam was at a complete loss for what to do. Here it was, ten o'clock in the morning and Dean was already set to take a nap in front of the TV.

"Well, you want to go over to Bobby's? Take a look at the car? Maybe grab some lunch while we're out there?" Sam offered.

Dean's ears had perked when Sam talked about his baby. But his soul was just too heavy right now. There was no way he could drag himself out there and make it back in one piece.

"I'm just gonna rest", was all Dean said as he turned up the volume so the neighbors three miles away could hear it.

"Fine", Sam dropped his hands to his sides, "I'm going put gas in the car and grab some more sodas. I'll be back in time for lunch". He grabbed his jacket, hanging on a hook by the door, and walked out.

Part of Dean wanted to revert and ask Sam ten questions then deny him the opportunity to go out alone. _He's never safe alone_. He wanted to ask him what could take so long? _Why are you going to be gone so long? Gas station is twenty minutes away and you can buy soda there_. But he couldn't bring himself to do it, so he left Sam to his own devices.

* * *

Sam drove slowly. One hand on the wheel at nine o'clock and the other gripping his cell phone. He dialed his father's number over and over, but never got an answer. He left a message that Dean had the last procedure and they sent him home. He told his father that physically Dean was fine, but that Sam need to talk to him about other things. Call him soon, please.

At the gas station Sam filled the sedan with regular unleaded and cursed under his breath when the numbers rolled to a stop at $46.78. He went into the store and bought two twelve packs of regular soda and a bag of peanut m&m's. He took his time driving back. He called Bobby and filled him in on the basics, _'ean's eating but he's still pretty wiped,_ before he thanked him for the hundredth time that week, _we really appreciate your help and letting us use the house and all_. And Bobby, of course, told him that no thanks was necessary, to just take care of Dean and get back in the game. _And tell him to come get his damn car. This heap is taking up valuable space…for ya know…junk and shit._

Around noon, when Sam returned, Dean was asleep in front of the TV, oblivious to the fuzzy episode of 'The Shield' that was blaring from the box in front of him.

Sam put the sodas in the fridge and dropped the candy on the counter next to the coffee pot where he felt sure Dean would find it. He opened the pantry and found can's of ravioli and figured it was good enough. He dropped two cans into a pot and placed it on the stove on high heat. Before long the disgusting smell of processed meat and tomato sauce filled the house. It reminded him of all the spagettios he had eaten as a child.

It was close to one when he put the food on the table and shook his brother awake. "Get up Dean", he told his brother. "Gotta eat lunch. No arguments, no excuses, just come sit down and eat this stuff".

Dean rubbed the sleep from his eyes and did as he was told. He sat next to Sam at the table, silently eating the canned concoction and sipping on sweet, cold soda. Another meal without conversation or eye contact. Sam stomached the food and the lack of good company as long as he could. And when his anger and frustration had piled high enough, he stood up and put his plate in the sink and walked out. "I've had enough of this shit", he said loud enough to catch Dean's attention.

Sam disappeared down the hall and left Dean to clean up their mess. It took him about forty minutes, twenty-five of those devoted to simply staring at the bag of m&m's he found on the counter. They were more than candy. They meant a million different things, _I know you. I love you. Let me help you. I'm here_, and all of these things warmed Dean's heart as they worked together to break it. He knew he had to talk to Sam, he just didn't think he could. Guilt and fear were eating him alive.

* * *

The afternoon dragged on, Dean sitting catatonic in front of the television, Sam locked in his room with a pile of books and his cell phone. He called John but got no answer, as usual. He stumbled out around five and made a snack, dropping a bag of chips on Dean's lap as he walked by.

"Eat something. I'll cook dinner later", he told his brother.

They ate sandwiches and watched re-runs of M.A.S.H. around eight. It was Dean's favorite show. He hated 'Charles Emerson Winchester III', but he loved Hawkeye and BJ. Still, tonight Hot Lips didn't seem so hot and none of the charades going on in the swamp seemed to be funny. When the final laugh track ended the show, Dean flipped channels to the local news and watched intently. He was completely oblivious to the way Sam watched the lights from the old set dance across his features.

Sam got up and put the dirty dishes in the sink before he headed off to bed and noticed the bag of candy still sitting next to the coffee pot. "Don't stay up too late", Sam told his brother as he walked behind the couch and toward the hall.

"Yup", Dean answered but didn't look up.

* * *

The constant, pelting snow had stopped in the early afternoon, but picked up again on and off into the evening. Sam laid awake for a long time, listening to heavy beads of frozen water hitting the roof and wall of the old house. He went over everything in his head, sure that if Dean would talk to him they could do something about it, together. He knew that there were some things that words just couldn't fix, no matter how well intended they were or who they came from, but he wanted the chance to say those words all the same.

It was two a.m. and his feet were cold and his nose was starting to run as the wet mid-western cold seeped into the drafty house. His long legs swung off the bed and he padded down the hall to the thermostat on the wall. He tapped it a few times to make sure it was running, then cranked the heat up. On his way back down the hall he peeked into Dean's room to check on him…just get a visual.

"Shit", Sam sputtered. Dean wasn't in the bed. A person had clearly been there at some point, but now the blanket was gone, the sheets were tousled and the bed was empty.

He darted to the living room and found the TV off and the space vacant. The kitchen was unusually cold and empty as the other rooms. That's when he noticed it. The back door was cracked open about a foot, leaving bits of leaf and small puddles in the opening. Sam opened the door all the way and stepped out on to the patio, freezing and shocked by what he found.

"Jesus Christ", Sam whispered.

Dean was sitting on one of the dirty old lawn chairs, wrapped in a blanket, legs drawn to his chest, bag of m&m's in his grip and a bottle between his knees. His detached gaze frightened Sam, he was just staring out into acres of empty South Dakota.

"Hey", Sam spoke softly and walked slowly into his brother's line of vision. "It's freezing out here Dean. Why don't we go back in the house?" _Use kid gloves._

Dean's face was red and flush from the bitter cold, his nose a brighter shade of crimson. Sam watched his brother shiver in the cold, hands shaking so much the bottle had to be held between his knees to ensure it wasn't dropped. He didn't answer Sam, just kept his eyes forward. _Like a good soldier._

"Dean? Are you listening to me?" Sam asked a little frantic.

Dean didn't move.

Fear rose in Sam's chest. Fear the demon or a reaper had come to finish the job they had thwarted in the hospital. "Dean! Are you okay?" Sam was screaming.

Slowly, Dean looked up and saw Sammy crouched down next to him and wondered when his brother had come outside.

"Are you okay?" He heard Sam ask again.

He was quiet for a moment, then out of the blue, he gave it up, looking back and forth between the candy and Sam.

"You know everything about me, right?" He asked softly.

Sam was taken aback by the odd question, but responded honestly. "A year ago I didn't. But yeah, I think I know you better than anyone else. Maybe even Dad".

Dean's eyes fell closed at the mention of their father.

"What's all this about Dean?" He pushed.

"Did you know that I had cancer before I was three. Did you know that I wasn't supposed to live?" His expression was blank, his face hollow.

"What are you talking about Dean? You were never sick. I would have known", Sam protested.

"Yeah, I was. And now…now everything is my fault. And you never knew. You never had a chance and it's all because of me and now I have to…Dad wants me to…shit. I can't Sammy. I just wanna go back to sleep".

Dean started to get up, limbs tangles awkwardly in the blanket. His foot caught and he stumbled as he finally rose, the bottle falling to the cement at his feet.

"Dammit", Sam muttered as he stood and grabbed Dean's arm. "Don't move. I'll get something to clean this up".

Dean tugged the blanket around his shoulder and reluctantly sat back down.

Sam reappeared a moment later with a broom and dustpan, clearing the shards of glass from his brothers path.

"Sorry", Dean whispered.

Sam just looked up and smiled as reassuringly as he could. "Don't worry about it", he said, "shit happens".

"Yeah", Dean scoffed as he stood up and walked back into the house. He heard Sam calling to him from the patio and then form the kitchen, but he didn't stop. He made his way back to his bed and crawled in, the infamous bag of m&m's still in his grip.

Sam stood in the doorway to Dean's room and watched him for a while, listening to his breathing even out and watching his chest rise and fall in a calming rhythm.

He didn't know where Dean had come up with this idea of having cancer as a kid, but he knew the one man who could sort it all out.

* * *

Room 10 of the Microtel Inn would work. John never stayed in chain hotels so the chances of anyone looking for him there were slim. Empty beer bottles were scattered across the table and research was strewn all over the room. Maps and weather reports were tacked to the walls and pictures of demons and otherworldly creatures were laid carefully across the foot of the bed.

He hadn't slept since he woke up form his drunken stupor. He had drank and researched and drank and researched. He didn't answer his phone when it rang, either. So far Jefferson, Bobby, and Sam had called. The battery would die soon and the ringing would stop.

And as the thought slipped over his mind the phone started ringing again. He looked over at the screen and saw 'Sam's Cell' flashing. He closed his eyes and counted, waiting for the ringing to stop, and when it did, he rewarded himself with a deep, cleansing breath, then jumped when the damn thing sprang to life with a beep indicating a new voicemail. He hesitantly picked up the device and dialed into the network.

_'Dad, it's Sam. I know you have some kind of hero, martyr thing going, but I need you to answer the damn phone. It's Dean. I found him sitting in the snow drinking tonite. He said something about being sick when he was a kid and that I never had a chance and you want him to do something'_, Sam took a breath, _"just stop fucking around and call me back',_ Sam barked before the call ended.

John closed his eyes and flipped the phone shut.

* * *

Morning came early and the sunlight with it. Dean grabbed the covers and pulled them over his head, trying to sort through the newest bizarre dream his sleep had been plagued with. He only remembered bits and pieces, but the more he concentrated, the easier it was to put it all together.

Sam had been there with Dean, sitting at a table in a cheap motel. Dean heard himself explaining the cancer and the demon and their mothers deal born out of desperation. Sam didn't believe him. He yelled. He wanted to know how Dean could make up a story like that. How could he tell a lie and put their mother in the category of those who made deals with evil things? Sam had stood and paced in circles, telling Dean he was crazy and that none of it made any sense. He told him to shut up and get out. Sam had taken Dean by the shoulders and dragged him out of his chair before throwing him out of the room, slamming the door and shutting Dean out in the cold.

He dreamt that his mother came to him and apologized for what she had done, what she had turned their lives into. She touched Dean's face and smiled at him then suddenly turned cold. She screamed at him, begging to know why he would tell Sam. Why would he ruin the only memory of happiness that Sammy had? How could he spit on his mothers memory like that?

Cocooned in his blankets, Sammy asleep in the next room, Dean fought with himself. Could he tell Sam what he knew about Mary and the demon? Should he? And as minutes ticked by on the clock, the sun rising higher in the sky, Dean wondered if the guilt would ever go away, if he could ever forgive himself.

**Guh…that took forever. So…are we enjoying this? Everytime I think I have finally gotten to the ending point, I realize there is just more I want to say! One of the lines in this chapter actually kept me awake the other night. I was minding my own business, trying to get to sleep, when my muse comes dancing out of the shadows and across my minds eye, repeating the line over and over. So I pulled a Will Hunting. I got up, grabbed a dry erase marker and write it on my mirror. That way I was forced to look at it. And then I wrote the chapter.**

**Did ya'll know that Samantha Smith (Mary) is in 'Transformers'? I said it out loud in the theatre…"It's Mary Winchester"….yeah, I got the crazy looks.**

**Review please!!!! I'll adopt children and name them after you if you review…I'll do a dance of joy….I'll write more good stuff….**


	24. Come on Sammy

**Okay…a little SUPERNATURAL trivia. If you watch episode 1.02 'Wendigo' you can catch a little something on Jessica's headstone when our Sammy stands over it talking to her. It says 'January 24th 1984 – November 2, 2005'. The trivia there? January 24th is Dean's birthday! So she was born on his brothers birthday and died on the anniversary of his mothers death. Hmm…maybe I've seen too much SUPERNATURAL. I think I'll include that little bit of trivial in my new fiction…it's coming soon!! Okay…read….**

Worn, stubble covered faces were drawn around a breakfast table, hot caffeine the only thing passing either man's lips.

Dean grunted as he drank the liquid slowly, head turned, eyes averted. He would have loved nothing more than for Sam to start something with him. He'd had two days of feeling guilty and helpless and scared, and he could use a dose of Sam's brand of anger. Anything little brother would dish out.

Sam's long fingers were wrapped around his rust colored coffee cup, twining together where they met on the other side. He looked at the cup, at Dean, at the floor, toward the window… nervous movement. Sam's eyes never stopped darting.

Never in Dean's life had he seen coffee go cold in his cup. But after thirty minutes of staring at the cup of brew and only sipping it occasionally, the stuff had gone cold. Sam had gotten up and gotten himself a second cup, holding the pot in front of Dean and asking if he wanted fresh. Dean just shook his head.

Time was moving even if the brothers weren't. The clock over the kitchen sink was ticking loudly, short hand inching closer to the number eleven.

Aware of the time and the tension, Dean finally broke the silence. "I'm gonna shower". He left the cup on the table and headed down the hall.

Sam just watched him. He found himself wishing that something simple would go wrong. A headache, a low fever…anything the doctor had warned him to watch for. Sick or injured Dean was easy. If he was hurt he would lay still and let himself be taken care of. If he was sick he would moan and groan, but he never put up a fight. You could always tell what was wrong. He would hold his stomach, favor an injured appendage, keep his head down when he was in pain. But if something happened and Dean's emotions got tossed around you could bet he was going to be a stubborn bitch and drag things out and pull Sam under. Typical Dean. He'd been that way his entire life…or as far back as Sam could remember, at least.

* * *

Sam waited till Dean was curled up on the couch, TV blaring some garbled infomercial, to make his move. He stalked in front of the set, flipped off the TV and stared his brother down.

"You're not sitting on your ass all day", he stated matter-of-factly.

Dean tossed the stuff onto the floor and flipped the TV back on with the remote. "I'm not going anywhere, Sam".

Sam turned around for a split second and turned the TV off again. He crossed his arms over his chest and planted his feet firmly. "Get up and do something with yourself Dean. What's eating at you can't be fixed by watching Jeopardy".

Dean looked at Sam like he had come face to face with an escapee from Belleview. "Leave me alone Sammy".

"Why won't you talk to me Dean?" Sam's voice grew louder and carried through the house.

"You'd love that wouldn't you college boy. A chance to play Dr. Phil. Fix things you can't change". Dean's body visably shook from an overload of guilt and anger. Anger with himself. He just wanted Sammy to take that first step, throw the first punch, give Dean a reason to walk away so that he wouldn't feel so guilty if he left. "It's too late", he mumbled to himself.

But Sam saw the confrontation for what it was.

He looked from Dean to the window. Gazing out into the less complicated world beyond the window, he suddenly seemed detached from the situation. "Snow stopped", he spoke softly, "I'm gonna go for a run".

"You don't run Sam", Dean said as he watched Sam walk toward the hall.

Sam stopped and looked at Dean, "Yeah, not usually. But then, I don't hide from things either", his eyes were filled with desperation and sadness. "Everyone can change, Dean". And then he was gone from his brother's sight.

He reappeared a little while later. _Sweats, running shoes, gloves, hat._

"Got my cell if you need me", Sam mumbled as he walked out the door.

* * *

Dean built a fire in the fireplace on the far side of the room and sat waiting for Sammy to come back. It felt like hours that he sat there alone.

Overwhelmed by everything that was going on and all the new information he possessed, Dean looked for a way to get out of his personal hell. But the more he thought about it the more he felt he deserved whatever he got for ruining Sam's life before it ever began.

So he curled up on the couch watching the fire lick and flame at the brick wall till Sam came bounding through the door.

He was covered in sweat, face flush and chest heaving each breath. "Gonna shower", he said as he walked by Dean, "You should think about getting off your ass".

"What's the difference?" Dean asked no one.

Sam caught his brothers slip and turned back to him as he pulled his hat and gloves off. "Look if you're not gonna talk to me, fine. But that means you don't get the luxury of making comments and mumbling under your breath while playing the part of the wounded animal". And he walked away, statement made, feelings clearly expressed.

Dean heard the shower go on and let the hum of the water and the exhaustion brought on by depression lull him into a dreamless sleep.

Sam emerged a half hour later, _jeans and sock covered feet_, and found his brother out cold in front of the dying fire. He slid into the chair he had slept in before, when Dean was sick, and covered his face with monstrous hands.

"Alright", he started talking to the empty space around him, "I know you can hear me mom, and I need your help here. Dean needs your help. I don't know what happened when he was younger or why it would mean anything now, but maybe you could do something. Send me a sign, pull a few strings. I don't know…find some way to help me. He's all you left me with". Sam chuckled a little, "I mean, you've seen Dad. Firm grip on the bottle and no grasp of reality". He looked contemplative as he kept going, he'd always talked to Mary, ever since he was a child. "I know he means well, he just doesn't get the whole picture, not since you've been gone at least. So yeah, Dean's all I've really got left anymore. And I just don't know what to do with him".

Sam's monologue was broken by the sound of his phone ringing in his pocket. It flashed 'Bobby' and Sam picked it up immediately.

"Hey, what's up Bobby?" He greeted his old friend.

"I'm glad I got a hold of you, Sam. How are you and your brother doing?" Always pleasantries first with Bobby.

"We uh, we're okay", Sam looked over at Dean and silently cursed himself for lying.

"Good, good", Bobby's voice seemed to trail a little. "I uh, I got a call from a friend and I could use you two over here. Do you think you boys could come by and help an old man out?" Now Bobby was lying.

Sam's eyes darted to Dean again. "Yeah. It might be a little while, but we'll be there".

"Thanks kid. I'll call you soon", and Bobby hung up.

Sam dropped his phone on the coffee table and stared at Dean. The man was like Chinese handcuffs: You could push and pull all you wanted, but he would never give up what he had. And the more you pushed, the stronger his resolve to hold in what he had.

* * *

His head was buried in a slightly lumpy pillow he was sure should have been washed a long time ago and he could hear Sam repeating his name, over and over again. 'Like a CD that skipped.' He felt the hand on his arm shaking him, but he refused to get up.

"Dean? Can you hear me Dean? Time to get up". Sammy wasn't shouting yet, but he was getting there.

Dean rolled over and lashed out at his brother verbally. "Shit Sam! What part of leave me alone didn't you get?"

Sam took a breath and scrubbed a hand over his face, not really interested in fighting with Dean anymore. "Bobby called. We gotta go".

"You go. I told you I'm not leaving". Dean

Sam's arms folded across his chest and he spread his feet, planting them firmly to the floor. He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth and shook his head. "Nnh Nnh. No. I'm not leaving you here and we're not gonna flake out on Bobby."

The argument went back and forth for thirty minutes. Dean knew he had a responsibility to help when Bobby or any other hunter called, but something in his gut, something that was mingling with the fear and guilt, made him fight Sam. In the end, Sam won and they got ready to head out.

Sam offered to let Dean drive, but his brother just shook his head and slipped in the passenger seat. He strapped on his seat belt and leaned his body against the door, sending a clear message that he didn't want to talk about it.

The trip to Bobby's felt like it took twelve hours. Sam had tried to talk to Dean a few times, chancing subjects like the weather and what kind of engine the sedan had, _not that Sam had any idea or cared_. But nothing seemed to interest Dean. He gave short answers, sometimes grunts, avoiding conversation and staring at the scenery flying past his window.

* * *

It was dusk when Bobby heard the car pull up in front of the house, Cletus barking for all he was worth. He'd parked John's truck around back, better to hide that their father was there till he got the boys inside and said to them what he needed to say.

"Boys", Bobby tipped his old cap in greeting as he slipped past the creaky screen door. "So how was your trip?"

"Tolerated", Sam said as he closed the driver's door, throwing a glance at Dean who was already walking away from the car.

"Well, let's get inside out of the cold and I'll get you boys a cup of coffee". The look on Bobby's face meant he knew things were not right. Sure, he'd seen Sam and Dean fight when they were growing up, but he'd never seen one ignore the other they way they were now. Especially after what they had been through, he'd expected Sam to be all over Dean.

What John had told Bobby the night before, drunken stupor or not, was eating at Bobby. And now, faced with the strange behavior by the boys, he worried that both knew the truth and neither was dealing with it.

"So", Bobby's voice pierced the silence as he filled three mugs with thick black coffee. He place the cups on the table in front of the boys and shot a glance down the hall. "You boys been okay out there at Daddy's old place?"

"The house is wonderful", Sam smiled one of those genuine smiles no one saw anymore. "Thank you again for letting us stay there".

Bobby waved a hand in the air. "I told you before. No thanks needed. It's just what family does".

Dean was turning his mug, round and round on the formica covered table. He hadn't said a word to Bobby or Sam since they had arrived and that, combined with the lack of eye contact, made Bobby uneasy.

"You doing alright Dean?" He questioned.

"Hmm? Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay", Dean said without ever looking up.

"Yeah. Too much sleep, not enough talking, getting drunk in the snow at two in the morning. He's great", Sam mumbled under his breath.

He didn't think either men had heard him, but when he looked up at Dean's crimson face he knew he was busted.

"I told you to leave it alone, Sam", Dean growled at his brother.

Sam returned with a look of indignation. "Whatever Dean". He took a breath and tried to change his attitude as he turned to Bobby. "So what's this hunt you need help with?"

"Well it's not a hunt really. I have a friend here and he's in a spot and I was hoping you could help him, but now that I see you two, maybe you could help each other", Bobby explained.

"Who? I didn't see any vehicles". Sam's eyes darted around the house.

"Back room", Bobby thumbed down the hall, "Finally got him to lay sown about thirty minutes before you two got here".

Sam rose from his chair with a little hesitation and started down the hall. "Don't start anything I'm gonna have to finish", Bobby called after him.

Dean seemed instantly relaxed as Sam left the room. "So who you hiding back there?" he asked as he took a sip of coffee.

Bobby opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by the sound of raised voices coming from the back room. That's when Sam came racing down the hall and into the kitchen.

"How long has he been here?" Sam asked, giving up no specifics, finger pointed in the direction from which he came.

"A day", Bobby looked a little ashamed as he answered questions.

"And he'd been like that since he got here?" Sam continued.

"Who's back there?" Dean asked Bobby.

Bobby looked to Dean, but snapped his head back when Sam barked at him.

"Bobby! Has he been like that the whole time?"

"Yeah. Friend owns a roadhouse in Nebraska. She called and said he showed up there and took one of her rooms. He was drunk when he got there and stayed that way while he was there. She had me pick him up yesterday". Bobby looked for compassion in Sam's eyes as he spoke, but found nothing but frustration.

Dean wasn't going to wait for Sam and Bobby to finish hashing this out. He got up and walked down the hall and into the back bedroom. John was sitting on the bed, head between his knees, mumbling something about getting back. He looked up just and caught Dean's eyes. The fear and the anger and the guilt came flooding back to Dean and he felt his stomach turn and his chest tighten. He had to get out.

He turned and sprinted down the hall, the fastest he's moved in a month, easy. He darted through the kitchen, still in his coat, and grabbed the car keys Sam had dropped on the table. He took Sam by the bicep and hauled him toward the door. "We're leaving Sammy".

Sam, taken off guard by the attack stumbled a little as Dean let go of his arm and went out the front door.

"Dean! Dean!" Sam was yelling in a tone that seemed hollow and frightening. "Would you stop Dean? I'm not leaving till we settle whatever this is and I know you're not going to just leave me here". Sam just kept following Dean until he stopped in front of the heap that was the Impala.

He spun around in time to come face to face with Sam's chest. He put up two hands and pushed Sam away. "We're leaving Sam. It's not up for discussion".

Sam stood up against Dean, chest to chest like a couple of cave men. "We're not leaving Dean. Now give me the keys and go back in the house so we can just get this over with".

Dean looked smug. He held the keys out to Sam and turned as soon as his brother accepted them. "I'll walk".

Sam's eyes rolled involuntarily. "Dean stop being an ass and come back here", Sam called.

Dean turned around and rushed at Sam, crowding his personal space and making him a little nervous when he felt his brothers breath hot on his skin.

"What Sam? What are you going to do? Huh? Make up for the time you were gone? Play the good brother for a few hours, fix all that's wrong in my world? Huh?" Dean eyes were flashing anger and Sam wasn't quite sure how to fight back without hurting him.

Dean scoffed at Sam, circling the smashed Impala again. "Or maybe you've found your balls and you're finally going to stand up to me you little shit".

Sam's eyes went wide when he heard Dean's words.

"Come on Sammy. I'm the one that held you back when we were younger. I didn't stand up for you when you wanted to leave and go to college", Dean shoved Sam, backing him closer to the car. "I'm the one who dragged you away from Jess and back into this god forsaken existence. I'm the one who spent the last year screwing things up and wasting time. Come on Sammy. Step up." Dean shoved Sam again, harder this time.

"Stop it Dean", Sam said, trying to plant his feet.

"No. Come on Sam, do what you know you want to do. It's the perfect time. I'm not up to running speed yet, so I'd be easy to handle. Come on". He shoved Sam again, effectively knocking him backward, but not hurting him.

"Come on Sammy", Dean's mantra started. He kept pushing Sam as tears came to his eyes. He was terrified that John would tell Sam everything and that his nightmare would become a reality. _Better to end things on his terms_.

Sam stood his ground as best he could as Dean continued his assault. "Come on", he knocked Sam back. "Come on Sammy", he shoved him harder this time, tears streaking his now dusty cheeks.

"I'm not gonna fight you Dean", Sam spoke softly, but clear enough to be understood. "It's not gonna fix anything".

"Come on Sammy", Dean's mantra continued, "Come on". He stepped forward and pushed Sam again, forcing him roughly against the car.

Sam felt the metal pierce his skin and his breath caught as it dug in. He grunted as Dean, oblivious to the damage being done, grabbed Sam by the shirt collar and tugged him back toward him, effectively removing the metal from his flesh.

Dean's tears were falling uncontrolled now as he begged Sam. "Come on Sammy. Come on. Come on. Come on Sammy".

He fell to the ground in front of his brother and allowed himself the moment to cry and mourn their loss. The loss of his innocence and Sam's. The loss of a mother who loved them. The loss of the opportunity for love and a simple life. The loss of a child to a father and a father to his sons. Dean was spent, limbs to heavy to lift, greif and fear and guilt flowing through his veins weighing him down, redering him useless.

Sam ignored the pain shooting through his leg and hefted his brother off the ground. "Let's go inside Dean. Come on". He stumbled, Dean's weight on his right and a stabbing pain and the sensation of blood dripping down the left, as he inched closer to the house.

**Okay kids…one or two chapters left, right? Unless I get long winded. So…how did we all like it? I will write if you review! Thank you to everyone who has reviewed. It makes me and the muse happy…and the muse does a really happy dance that well...it inspires me.**

**Hope you guys like it!! You all ROCK!!**


	25. Talking In The Yard

**Yay! I'm back with a L-O-N-G chapter! I think I cover a lot of stuff in here and I am impressed with it, myself. I just finished it and I'm already buzzing to write the next chapter!! Who knows when this thing will end…or if it will ever end! Too much going on in my head!! We've come a long way people…26 chapters so far…YOU ALL ROCK! Now go read….**

Sam made it into the kitchen, Dean's arm in his grasp, warm body pressed to his side. He could hear Bobby yelling at them both, but it was coming out garbled and unclear.

"What…hell…you boys…I'm too old…and your father", Bobby's words should have made sense, but they just weren't connecting. Sam took a deep breath and tried to focus his eyes on Bobby, but things were cloudy and Bobby was blurring. The room started to move and he lost his grip on Dean. That's when everything went black.

* * *

Sam went down like a ton of bricks. Too big and heavy for Dean to hold up and too fast for Bobby to catch.

"Shit, Dean! What the hell were you two doing out there? Where did all of this blood come from?" Bobby was pulling Sam up from the floor and into a chair at the kitchen table.

"Blood? What?" Dean immediately started searching Sam's body, stomach turning at the sight of blood soaking his little brother's jeans. He ran shaking hands under Sam's shirt and all over his back, only finding the warmth of Sam's skin. "We gotta get him out of these clothes…find out where the blood is coming from", he barked at Bobby.

But before Bobby could move to help him, Dean was pulling Sam out of the chair and dragging his body down the hall. Bobby ran ahead, into the second room, turning on the light and throwing the bedspread and pillows to the floor.

Dean plowed through the doorway and dropped Sam on the bed, wasting no time ripping the shirt from Sam's body and pulling his jeans off in one pass. He was ready to throw the jeans on the floor when he saw the rip down the back of the left leg, and that's when it hit him.

"Oh my…oh my God. The car. I pushed him into the car. He must've…shit", Dean pushed the heels of his palms into his eyes. "Shit!" He yelled at the top of his lungs. "We gotta flip him over", he told Bobby. But Bobby wasn't moving fast enough. "Flip him over!"

Bobby helped Dean turn Sam onto his stomach, careful to keep his head at an angle so he wouldn't be smothered by the pillow.

Dean's hand ghosted over the gash on the back of Sam's thigh, all torn flesh and dripping blood. He pulled the bed sheet up and wiped the blood away, more flowing out of the wound as he did. He started moving on instinct and training, pulling his belt off and wrapping it around Sam's thigh. He pulled it tight and tied it off, making a tourniquet.

"Get me your med kit and some towels and water", he told Bobby, eyes never leaving Sam.

Bobby ran out of the room and Dean started wiping the blood away with the sheet again, all the while talking to Sam.

"I'm sorry, Sammy. I didn't mean to hurt you. I wasn't…" his voice trailed off and cracked. "I just wanted you to fight back…give me a reason to leave. A reason I could live with. I'm sorry".

Bobby came through the door with the med kit in one hand, a jug of water in the other and towels slung over his shoulder. No one talked. Dean poured water over one of the towels and started to clean the wound. He dried it and started stitching it carefully, making every stitch small and tight. It took him twenty minutes, sweat beading on his brow. When he was done he wiped it clean with alcohol, dressed the would and taped gauze pads over the area. He took the belt off and gently rolled Sam onto his back.

Dean took a deep breath and scrubbed his face with his hand before shoving the supplies back into the med kit and standing at the foot of the bed.

Bobby cleared his throat in an effort to remind Dean that he was there. Dean turned his head and looked at Bobby. "I'm just gonna sit here with him for a little while. Make sure the wound doesn't start bleeding again, be here if he needs something or wakes up."

Bobby just nodded and left the room, pulling the door closed behind him. Dean scratched the stitches on the back of his head as he sat down on the foot of the bed, tucking his legs beneath him. Sam's breathing was still ragged, but better, and his color had improved. He reached out and touched Sam's foot, rubbing his thumb across the warm tan skin. Sam had done the same to form a connection back at the hospital. If it was good enough for Sam, it was good enough for Dean.

* * *

Fear and grief compounded by panic and regret plagued Dean.

He'd spent a lifetime afraid on the inside, confident and brave on the outside. Terrified in dark empty motel rooms, holding little Sam close to his own small frame. Scared and shaking on the cold, damp ground in the woods, holding his own bleeding arm and whispering promises to Sam that he was alright and everything would be okay. Frightened and tense, a sawed off rifle warm in his grip, spent gunpowder permeating the air, Sam cowering behind him and the hissing body of some big bad crumpled at their feet.

This was his life. Always anxious and fearful. Always hiding behind a cocky grin and smart mouth. Always fiercely protective of those he loved. Always ready to fight any evil that threatened the people who made up his world.

But he never would have imagined, or dreamt in his worst nightmares, that the cause for the fear and the pain and the loss was the saving of his life.

Decades had passed him by and the fear was still here, changing now, turning into a different beast. He was losing his grip and he feared for his sanity. He was afraid of losing Sam to whatever he needed to be saved from. But the thing that scared him the most was the idea of losing Sam because of what transpired between their mother and a demon in his name.

This was his life. A world filled with evil and sorrow. A world oblivious to Dean's plight. A world kept spinning by Dean's vigilance.

* * *

Hours passed, Sam's breathing was normal, he had no fever, and the wound hadn't bled through the bandage. Bobby had come in once to offer Dean food, only to be sent away. He set bottles of antibiotics and pain killers on the nightstand where he could reach them easily when Sam came to. Dean resolved to stay right where he was until he knew Sam was okay and he was forgiven.

Seconds ticked by turning into minutes that morphed into hours. Sam had been out for close to three hours and showed no signs of waking anytime soon. Dean sat and watched Sam till he couldn't sit still anymore, so he gave Sam one last look before he left the bedroom and headed for the kitchen.

Bobby was sitting at the table, obviously stewing over something, when Dean walked in. He headed straight for the fridge and pulled out a beer.

"Why's he still out Bobby? I mean, he didn't lose that much blood. What's going on?" He twisted the top off of the bottle and leaned against the counter.

Bobby's eyes had the gleam of a crazy man and he looked at Dean like he was an idiot. "Your brother has been to hell and back these last few weeks. He hasn't slept, he was barely eating, never left your side. He pulled every trick and charmed every person in that hospital to make sure you got everything you needed and more than you wanted".

Dean's mouth hung slack.

"And then you go and drag him into the yard and try to start some shit with him. What the hell is the matter with you?" Bobby stood up and met Dean eye to eye.

Dean's body twisted and he put the beer on the counter top. "Ya know what? I don't need this". He pushed past Bobby and was out the front door before the old man could stop him.

He was moving fast, his feet eating up ground, his heart beating out of control. He was a few feet from the impala when he heard the man yelling at him.

"Don't you walk away when I'm talking to you, boy", Bobby yelled as he stepped up to Dean. "Now I don't know what's going on, but I know that you're going to tell me".

"Leave me alone Bobby", Dean was looking at the impala, carefully taking in the way the ripples in the metal and jagged edges sticking out. He saw the drivers door in the back seat and wondered what the hell that was all about. They hadn't cut Sammy out and the truck hit the passenger side.

"No Dean. I'm not gonna leave you alone. I've got your Daddy and your brother both laid up in my house and I want answers from you cause I can't get them from anyone else".

Dean heart was pounding against his sternum, looking for a way out. He couldn't tell Bobby the truth, it would just be one more person he would have to write out of his life. He was about to tell Bobby that it was private and not to worry that they would work it out, but he was distracted by approaching footsteps. When he looked up over Bobby's shoulder he saw his father moving toward them. A little slow, but steady.

"I'm sorry", he said as he he stopped a few feet from the two men. "I didn't know you were coming here. I'll get my shit together and go". Dean just nodded as he crossed his arms over his chest.

"No!" Bobby jerked. "Both of you are going to stay here and sort this shit out. Dean, you're gonna talk to me and Johnny, I want you to talk to Sam as soon as he comes around".

"Comes around?" John asked, clearly confused.

Dean stared at the jagged metal, protruding from the impala, covered in Sam's blood. "Sam and I were out here earlier and he backed into the car and got stabbed. He lost some blood and passed out."

"Jesus…fuck! Is he okay?" John asked running a hand through his hair.

"He's fine. I patched him up and he's sleeping it off". Dean explained, never actually looking at his father.

"Alright", Bobby said as he grabbed Deans arm. "House or yard?"

"Yard", Dean whispered.

Bobby flashed a look at John and tipped his head to the house. "And you get your ragged old ass back in the house and wait for your boy. We'll be back soon". And just like that he was dragging Dean out into the salvage yard; fenced in by rusted, dented, crumpled shells of cars.

Bobby stopped in front of the back end of a rusted out 63' Pontiac Lemans. It had been there for years and Dean could remember the desire he had as a teenager to restore it and take off with Sam where Dad couldn't get drunk and yell and no one would ask him to fix their problems.

"Now, I want to know what happened when you left that hospital that's got you all torqued up like this", Bobby stated flatly.

"S'nothing Bobby", Dean mumbled as he ran a soft hand over the rusted metal and chipping paint of the car.

"Like hell", Bobby barked out. "I get you two boys here, you won't look me or your brother in the eye, your Daddy just drinks himself unconscious, you start a fight with you brother when you and I both know you couldn't hold up your end, and he ends up taking the fall". Bobby's heart was pounding. _Stubborn, obnoxious, pig headed Winchesters._

Dean's mind just kept going, holding on to the memory of the escape he had planned in his younger years. He could do this now. Tell Bobby the truth, tell Sam the truth…run.

"And I've seen that look on your Daddy and your brothers faces before", Bobby stared Dean in the eye. "I know you're thinking about running and there's no way in hell I'm letting that happen".

Dean was getting tired. "What do you want Bobby?"

"I told you. I want the truth, right now, before someone else gets hurt".

Dean didn't fight, just gave in, leaning against the Pontiac. "When I was small…like barely three, I got sick. They told mom that I wouldn't live to see my fourth birthday. So she made a deal", He stopped there and took a deep breath, looking at Bobby. Bobby knew what he meant by deal.

"For her soul?" Bobby asked.

"No. Yellow eyes never told her what he wanted, just told her he'd collect when he was ready", Dean's eyes welled with tears. "Sammy never had a chance. I got better and mom never said anything to anyone. It was just a miracle as far as anyone knew. Then she got pregnant with Sam and the demon came back. He staked his claim on Sam before the kid was even born", a tear fell from Dean's eye as he tried to finish, "and you know the rest".

"But I don't get it Dean. Why is all of this going on? The fighting with your brother, ignoring your father?" Bobby pushed.

"Dad knew about Sam for a year before he told me. He told me over the phone Bobby. I was sick and I was dying and he wasn't there and he asked me over the phone to save Sam or kill him", Dean wasn't holding anything back anymore…tears, truths, lies.

"I'm sorry he did that to you", Bobby offered, his brain silently devising ways to dismember John.

"That's not it Bobby. He didn't tell me I was sick as a child, he didn't tell me what mom did. When Rougon bound our souls I saw it all…the demon, the doctors, the crying. I saw myself dying as a child. Then he wanted to deny it when I asked him". Dean got up and started pacing. "If he had just told me sooner I could have saved Sam and I a lot of pain. I mean hell, the man sold his soul to keep me alive, knowing I'd never be able to live with the weight of something like that. That's why I told him to leave and not come back".

"What about Sam? Why are you fighting him like this", Bobby asked as softly as an old junk man could.

Dean's shoulders shrugged as he suddenly became very interested in the cuff of his sleeve. "When he finds out that everything that has happened to him and to the family is my fault, he's not going to want anything to do with me. I just thought…I thought if I could drive him away it would be easier than telling him the truth. I could give him some reason to give me a reason to walk out. A reason I could live with. One that didn't hurt so much".

"You know", Bobby started as he took his cap off and scratched the top of his head, "that is the dumbest thing I have ever heard".

"Yeah", Dean sniffled a little and gave a weak smile, "I know".

"And you know you gotta talk to your brother, right? Tell him the truth and let him decide how this thing plays out. It's his life Dean. You've done nothing wrong here…none of it is your fault. Your mama loved you…just didn't want to see you suffer. No one has ever meant to hurt anyone".

"Yeah", Dean scoffed.

"Alright, now, lets get inside and you go and talk to your Daddy and your brother", Bobby instructed.

"Yes sir", Dean offered as he shoved his hands in his pockets and shuffled back toward the house.

* * *

Sam's long hair had fallen across his forehead, a few strands blowing up and down as he breathed in and out. John just stared. Somehow, his curly haired little boy had turned into a powerful man. The teenager who had yelled and stormed out of his life to go to college had turned into a sharp, gifted hunter. He watched Sam the way only a parent, _or Dean_ he thought to himself, would watch a child. He noticed the way Sam's chest rose and fell, how long his son's fingers were and the way they held tight to the blanket his brother had laid over him. He saw the face of his baby boy in the firm features of a man. He was just about to reach out and run a hand along Sam's cheek, physical contact something the two had rarely shared, when the door opened and Dean stepped into the room.

"He alright?" Dean asked softly.

"Yeah, I think he's okay. But go ahead, I know you want to check him out". John stood up and moved away from the bed, taking his chair with him.

"Thank you", Dean mumbled as he slipped past John and up to Sam. He laid the back of his hand across Sam's brow feeling out a fever and took a breath of relief when he found none.

"Gotta roll over for me Sam", Dean said as he pushed Sam's body over.

Something came out of Sam's mouth, not actual words, but clearly a sign of acceptance.

Dean pulled the blanket out of his way and settled on the bandage covering the wound. He laid a hand on the skin, feeling warmth, but expecting as much. He pulled the bandage back and looked at what his beloved car had done to his beloved brother before replacing it with a satisfied sigh.

"Okay Sammy", he said as he laid Sam on his back once again, "all done little brother". Chancing being caught in the moment, he ran a hand over Sam's brow and down his cheek before standing back and offering the bedside space to his father again.

John nodded his thanks and returned to Sam's side, waiting for him to wake. He could feel Dean's eyes boring into his back so he decided to start the conversation.

"I'm sorry Dean. I'm sorry for what happened to you as a child, I'm sorry you lost your mother, I'm sorry you lost your father, I'm sorry you never got to be a kid because all I ever did was act like a child", John was rambling and not giving Dean a chance to speak. "I'm sorry I never told you about the cancer, I'm sorry you had to raise Sammy, I'm sorry I told you the things I told you the way I told you. I'm sorry you were sick and scared and I wasn't there. I'm sorry, son".

"Dad", Dean whispered as if to say 'you don't have to apologize'.

"No, Dean. I have spent too long being a marine and a hunter and not enough time being a dad. Yeah, I've always been a father, but the last time I remember being a dad was the night your mother died. I tucked you into bed and read you some story about a penguin", John told him, nostalgia in his eyes.

"The Penguin That Hated The Cold", Dean stated as he sat down on the end of the bed. "My favorite book".

"I told you that I loved you and I hugged you tight and then your mother came in. You two had this little ritual. She'd hold your little hands together and whisper the 'Goodnight Prayer' with you. She'd give you a hug and one kiss for every year old you were, then whisper something in your ear, I don't know what, and leave you to fall asleep".

"She told me that angels were watching over us", Dean scoffed, "Guess she was a little misguided".

"No, no. She was right. Angels were watching over you…they are the reason you got yourself and your brother out of the house that night. There were just other things watching then, too", John countered.

Neither man said anything after that, just watched Sam sleeping. It was hours sitting in the silence before John got up and headed for the door. "Gonna get some coffee. You want some?"

"Yeah, black", Dean replied.

It was only a few minutes before John was back, balancing to cups in his hands as he pushed the door back open.

"Thank you", Dean said as he took the coffee from his father.

John settled into his seat and looked at Dean staring at Sam. "Bobby said you and Sammy aren't getting along. Said it was a fight that got him hurt".

"I didn't mean it Dad, I swear. You know I'd never hurt Sammy". Dean's eyes begged his father to believe him.

"I know you'd never hurt your brother, Dean. But I also know you'd never let an argument between the two of you get so heated that it became a serious physical altercation", John went on. "So you wanna tell me what's going on between you two?"

"I don't know. I just… I've been so afraid for Sam to find out about mom and the demon and why she did it. I don't want him to hate me. Cause ya know, it's all kind of my fault. If I had just died when I was little his whole life would be different".

"Yeah, he wouldn't have you. No big brother, no best friend. Oh, it would have been dandy", John gave a nervous chuckle.

"You know that's not what I mean. He'd have the normal he wants. He'd be safe right now", Dean pressed. "I just thought that if I could push him he'd fight back and give me a reason to leave on my own before he found out the truth and pushed me away".

"What are you talking about?" The injection of Sam's voice startled both Dean and John.

"Hey, Sammy boy. Good to see your back with us", Dean jumped off the bed and came around to the nightstand. He picked up the pill bottles and started shaking caplets into his hands. "Your leg hurt bad?" He asked.

"Not too bad, but I won't refuse a pain killer", he told his brother, licking his dry lips. "What are you two talking about?" He asked as he looked from Dean to John.

"Nothing Sammy", Dean said, dropping the pills into his brothers hand.

But Sam wasn't going to let it go, enough damage was already done. He grabbed Dean's wrist and stopped his brothers ministrations.

"Unh unh Dean. You're not getting away this time. Tell me what's going on". He turned on the eyes and beamed at Dean.

"Yeah. Okay", Dean conceded. He looked to John, "Give us a minute?"

"Yeah. I'll be outside with Bobby". John got up and left his two boys alone to talk things out.

Dean sat down in John's chair and stared at his hands for a moment before he looked at Sam again. "I need to tell you a story, and need for you to tell me how it's going to end".

**I totally stole that last line from David Lariby. Cookie for anyone who can tell me who David Lariby is and where he said it. So how was that? I gotta tell you, as I was writing Dean and John I think my heart almost exploded. I love a soft pliant John and an angsty Dean. So Sammy lives…sorry, I know some of you were looking for a near death/tortured experience. I've been thinking a lot about Bobby and I think I'm going to give him a very cool scene of his very own in which we see a very soft side of the old man. And oh…the angsty, emo crap is coming for Sam and Dean…get ready!! BTW…my muses dance is a cross between the silly kimono dance Jensen did in 'Blonde' and the awful dance Jared did at the Upfronts last year. Get the picture??**

**So go review my lovelies!! The muse can't get enough! And I can't either!! You guys rock my sox!! Review and I shall write…**


	26. That 'John' Thing

**Well now… I have to say I am impressed. ChiliBelly was correct. In the re-make of the classic love story 'Sabrina', the younger brother David Lariby tells his fiancé that he has a story to tell her and she must tell him how it ends. It's after he sits on two champagne flutes and has stitches in his ass and gets hopped up on painkillers and lets himself fall for the hired help. Anyway, it's the only 'chick-flick' I can stomach, so I highly recommend giving it a go. Funny, romantic, Harrison Ford punches Greg Kinnear.**

**Sorry it took so long, life came and bit me in the ass. But I digress. Go on, read the story…**

John made his way to the kitchen, determined to find coffee and aspirin, driven to give Sam and Dean time alone.

As he crossed the threshold he could see Bobby sitting at the kitchen table, a bottle of bourbon and a short glass in front of him. Bobby looked up and John was caught like a deer in headlights. Averting his eyes, Bobby picked up the bottle and filled the glass before placing it gently on the table.

"Bobby", John spoke softly and nodded his head in salutation. He'd seen Singer like this before and knew whatever was to come next couldn't be good. So John padded softly as possible through the kitchen and poured himself a cup of the sludge Bobby called coffee.

"Sit down John", Bobby barked as John went for a sip. Sirens and bells and whistles and flashing lights went off in John's mind in warning. Bobby never called him John, always Johnny or Johnny Boy or Winchester. Never John.

Frightened or not, John followed orders and took a seat at the table across from his old friend.

"What cha' got Bobby", he asked.

Bobby leaned back, tipping his chair on its back legs. He chuckled softly and scratched at his beard. "You know…that's a good question with a very interesting answer John".

There was the 'John' thing again. And the look on Bobby's face was something akin to that of a crazy man.

"What I've got is a drunk man hold up in my back room, a young man who just escaped death by way of magic, and another young man who is coming apart at the seams while trying to hold his family together", Bobby leaned forward and punctuated his last statement, "and no one is willing to tell that young man anything".

"Listen Bobby. I'm sorry if we got you involved in all this, but it's really none of your business, it's between me and my boys and – "

John was cut off by Bobby who suddenly dropped his chair onto all fours and leapt in John direction. He was standing in John's personal space, jabbing at his chest with a pointed finger.

"Like hell this is none of my business! For twenty some odd years now you come rolling up to my front door with those two bringing up the rear. You ask for my help and I put on my 'Uncle Bobby' hat and I look out for them while you look out for yourself, always chasing some shit you think is going to make up for what you lost". Bobby shoved John hard, knocking his chair back. "Well I got news John Winchester. You're not helping them, you're hurting them".

John stared up at his friend not sure what to say or do, or if should even move at all. Bobby started circling him like an animal would its prey.

"I talked to Dean. I heard the whole story about the cancer and the deal Mary made. I know you didn't know until a year ago, but for Christ's sake John…you owed it to Dean to tell him when you found out. He had the right to know the truth about everything. And he deserved a father who would have sat with him and told him the truth and stayed there and talked it out with him".

"Bobby…" John barely go the name out before a hand went up in his face and he was stopped cold.

"Know all about what you asked Dean to do, too. How can you sleep at night knowing that you asked your son to kill the person he loves most in this world? Huh? Or do you sleep at all? Dean sleeps all the time, ya know? What with the weight of your deal, your soul for his life, and the burden of the saving or killing his brother. I doubt he's getting on too well". Bobby kept pacing the floor, never giving John the chance to add one of his excuses to the pile of bull he head brought with him.

"Sam said that physically Dean is healing fine, but otherwise he's not okay. Apparently he sleeps the days away and there was some incidence the other night involving Sam finding him drunk in the snow in the middle of the night". Bobby stopped and let that last statement sink in deep.

"Is that the Dean you know?"

* * *

Sam had known two people his entire life: John and Dean. John was there, dragging them from town to town, sticking the two boys together and leaving them alone. He couldn't help the feelings of anger and resentment that filled his chest when he was with his father… he just voiced them. But Dean, Dean had been there every day and every night. He knew every scratch on Sam's body, every hair on his head. He had been father, mother, and brother. He was Sam's entire world, the one person Sam could be himself around and totally honest with. And yet here he was, losing himself in an anger that was eating him from the inside out. He was holding it in till it burned up his insides. Letting it out just long enough to do damage. And his eyes…Sam could see the fear and pain and anger in his eyes and it was killing him.

They were tucked into the back room of Bobby's house. Dean sat at the foot of the bed and held onto Sam's foot. He looked up at his brother and looked away as soon as their eyes met. His heart was pounding, the fear and anxiety and terror building and coursing through his veins. And Sam was there, calm as ever, sitting back on the bed, waiting.

"I'm sorry", Dean started, speaking softly and slowly. "I'm sorry for the way I've acted, for the way I've been treating you. You have done nothing but look out for me and try to take care of me and I've been an ass", he looked Sam in the eye, "And I'm sorry".

"It's okay", Sam told him. "But I need to know what's going on Dean. Why are you so angry?"

"You have to promise me that you won't try to get up and run out when you tell you what I have to say. You have to let that leg heal before you go running around. I'll leave if you want me to, but I won't have you run off and get hurt on account of me, I can't hurt you anymore Sammy".

Sam looked confused, but was touched by Dean's care and the sincerity in his voice. "What are you talking about Dean?"

Dean took a deep breath and concentrated on not looking at Sam.

"When I was two mom took me to see a doctor. They told mom that I had some kind of cancer and that I didn't have that long, probably only a few years. So mom went to see a friend of hers and she learned some things I wish she had never found out about".

"What are you talking about Dean?"

Dean waved a hand in the air to stop Sam. "She was a witch or something and she taught mom about summoning demons. So one night mom summoned a demon. The demon. She promised him anything he wanted in return for my health". Dean's bottom lip was trembling and he was shaking, trying not to lose what control he had. "Sammy, she didn't offer you up. She only promised that she'd do what he wanted when he came to collect".

"Shit Dean". Sam's heart was racing, his mother's face burned into his brain, Dean's two year old body suffering, an image in his mind.

"He came when she was pregnant. He touched her stomach and told her he knew what he wanted". Dean looked up, if only for a moment. "I saw that part in a dream".

"What do you mean you saw it in a dream?"

"I've been having dreams. About Mom, about Dad. About you running out when I told you the truth". Dean couldn't look at Sam, he was too afraid of what he might see.

Sam's eyes were filling with tears but he held them in, this was about Dean, not him. "I'm so sorry Dean".

"What?" Dean looked up at Sam, confused by his siblings apology. "Why would you be sorry? I should be sorry".

"All of your life you have held onto this idea of Mom in your head. The angel in bunny slippers and blue jeans that made you peanut butter and honey sandwiches". Sam saw Dean smile at the memory, "Yeah, I remember all the stories you told me about her. And I'm sorry that you have to know something about her you didn't want to know. I'm sorry that you are sad because of what happened. I'm sorry that some part of you is lost".

Dean was caught between confusion and heartache. Memories of afternoons alone with Mary flooded him, but he couldn't help but wonder why Sam hadn't gotten angry or asked him to leave.

"Do you want me to go?" He sniffled.

"Why would I want you to go?" Sam asked. It was his turn to play the role of confused Winchester.

Dean scoffed. "Don't you see Sammy? If I had just died when I was supposed to the demon never would have come into your life. You'd have Mom and Dad and the apple pie life you deserve. It's my fault all of that was taken from you".

Sam thought about it for a moment before he rolled his sleeve up and held his arm out, pointing to a thin white line just above his wrist. "Do you know what that was?"

Dean shook his head, not needing to think, "water rafe in Michigan when you were eleven".

"And this one?" Sam pulled back the blankets and pointed to a small raised pink scar on his ankle.

"You cut your ankle in that mine last year running from the wendigo".

"Yup", Sam nodded and pulled his long hair away from his face revealing a small scar in his hairline. "And this one?"

Dean laughed. "You were eight years old and you had the flu, and dad left us alone in a motel in Iowa. You were delusional from the fever and you smacked your head on the window pane trying to get away from the hefalumps".

"And who stitched those cuts and cleaned the wounds and tended the fevers?" Sam asked, not really expecting an answer. And he didn't get one, Dean just sat with his mouth open, unsure where Sam was steering this thing.

"All the time that you thought the demon had come for me and that's why mom was gone, you took care of me. You raised me and looked out for me and made sure I got what I needed, even though it was my fault your life was over and mom was gone. You never turned your back on me, never asked me to leave".

Sam reached out and grabbed Dean's wrist. "How could I ask you to leave when you have done nothing but love me and take care of me? You didn't ask mom to do what she did. She did it on her own and she never did it thinking it would cost her her children or her life".

Dean didn't know how to react to what Sam was saying, lying there in that bed because of him. So he did the only thing he felt he could. He let it all go. He lost it.

He fell forward on the bed, his head coming to rest on Sam's stomach. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I love you Sammy and I never wanted anything bad to happen to you and I never meant to hurt you. I'm sorry", he was crying and mumbling. Tears streaked his cheeks and fell to Sam's t-shirt. "I've spent my whole life looking out for you and taking care of you and the thought that it's my fault…" Dean's whole body started to shake as he let the weight of the truth sink in and tear him up. "Oh god, it's all my fault. Mom and Jessica and shit…Jim and Caleb".

Sam felt Dean's body shake and wrapped his arms around him. "Hey, hey", long fingers stroked at Dean's back and shoulders. "This is not your fault Dean".

The tremors coming from Dean and the way he couldn't seem to stop sobbing started to worry Sam. He heard Dean's breath hitch and he knew Dean wouldn't be able to breathe at all if he let this continue.

"Here we go again", Sam said as he turned himself and gave Dean room to lie back on the bed. Dean was throwing himself into one of the panic attacks like he had at the hospital. Sam winced at the pain in his leg as he shifted on the bed, "just breathe Dean. Come on, man. You gotta calm down, okay?"

Sam's words were about as effective in that moment as they had been tucked away in the hospital. But Sam knew that so he didn't fight against Dean, just laid a hand on his brother's chest and sat there with him, hoping the contact meant something, hoping it would ground Dean and help him.

He was handling this. Everything was fine. In the grand scheme of things, a shift in the guilt didn't seem like a difficult thing to deal with. He closed off the ache in his heart and tried to focus on getting Dean to calm down, but Dean did something that Sam had never seen him do before. Just as Sam thought he was finally calming down, starting to breathe evenly, Dean rolled on his side and screamed.

"Mom!"

In all of his twenty-three years Sam had never once heard Dean call out for her. He'd seen Dean lean a little into John when he was young, but never had he called to her for help. The inflection in his voice, the tone and the nature of the call terrified Sam. He felt the scream in his skin and in his bones. It coursed through his veins and dispersed through his body. It climbed through his spine and to his neck, hairs rising to attention. It ran from his chest to his toes, electrifying every inch of skin as it did. He felt the goosebumps raise on his forearms and back as the call for help settled into his body. And like a frightened child reaching for his blanket, Sam grabbed at Dean and pulled him up into his arms. Dean was not okay, not even close. A hug and kind words were not going to fix this. Sam couldn't fix this. But he held him close anyway, two hearts thumping out of control, two bodies shaking, two brothers broken and afraid.

"What the hell happened?" Bobby yelled as he came through the door, hat tipped back.

"He's not okay. I just…where's dad? I don't know what to do", Sam held Dean, held himself together. 'One more time, just keep it together this one last time.'

Bobby ran from the room and Sam looked down at Dean's trembling form. Dean leaned back enough to get a look at Sammy's eyes, searching for forgiveness or love or anything that meant life wasn't over… things had just shifted. But Sam's eyes had fallen closed, shoked by the way Dean was laying himself bare.

Dean's chest heaved, he was sure Sam had decided he was not worth the heartache. His pulse pounded and his heart hammered in his chest. But Sam didn't let go and he couldn't understand why. He felt his blood pressure dropping and his head getting light. Sam held his face between his hands and said something, but Dean didn't hear it. He just kept fighting against everything, murmuring 'sorry' over and over as he struggled for air.

Sam watched Dean's lips moving and heard the words, his stomach turning as Dean said them. Then, like in the hospital, Dean's eyes rolled back and he passed out. "Shit", Sam said as he tried to lay Dean flat on his back.

Bobby came back through the door, the room was buzzing with energy. "What happened Sam?" The older hunter asked as he came to Dean's side.

"He...he, he", Sam stuttered as words got trapped somewhere between his throat and his brain, unwilling to come. He took a deep breath. "He passed out. He passed out again", Sam told Bobby.

Bobby leaned over and listened to Dean's breathing before making a fist and rubbing his sternum. "What do you mean 'again'?"

But before Sam could say anything John was moving into the room, dirty boots dragging across the floor, carrying the weight of a sorrowful man. "What's going on?" He asked sheepishly.

"You!" Sam bolted up, propelling himself toward his father on his good leg. He landed right in front of John, grabbing his shirt collar and fisting it in his hand. He pulled his father close, towering inches over him and bearing down on him with all of his might. "All he has ever done is follow your damn orders and try to please you. He sacrifices everything for you and your obsession and this is how you repay him. What kind of father are you? How could you tell him that? How could you put the weight of someone's death on his shoulders? Someone he loves".

John looked past Sam to Dean and then at Bobby. "Is he okay?"

Bobby nodded and adjusted the cap on his head. "Yeah. He just passed out, he'll come around".

"Hey!" Sam barked at John, jerking him by the collar, "I'm talking to you".

John looked at Sam, searching for where his brain had been only moments ago.

Sam saw the confusion and it angered him, "How could you put that weight on him, John?" There was the 'John' thing again.

"Sam, you have to understand", he was almost pleading with his youngest son. "It was only if he couldn't save you. I had faith he could save you", Sam's expression was one that John couldn't read but he continued all the same. "I didn't think I'd be here anymore, I needed to know that you'd both be safe".

Sam waited for John to stop talking and tried to process what his father said, but nothing made any sense.

"What are you talking about Dad? What do you mean if he couldn't save me? Dean was four when mom died and he did save me. He carried me out of that house, he told me so".

"What did Dean tell you Sam?"

"Everything", he snarled with a look of contempt on his face. "He told me about the cancer and the deal and what happened to me because of it", he took a deep breath as the hamster started running on the wheel in his brain. "Wait…did you know? Did you have something to do with the deal mom made?" Sam let go of John's shirt and started to back away, somehow repulsed by the idea that both of his parents made that choice and that Mary was the one to pay the price.

"No Sammy. No", John stepped forward toward his son, "I had no idea about the deal until about a year ago. And I didn't tell your brother about it. He saw it when Rougon bound our souls".

Sam had his back to John when he felt the hand come to rest on his shoulder. "I never would have told him that, Sam".

Sam lashed back at John, effectively knocking the hand off of him, "He had her on a pedestal. She was his reason for doing this all these damn years and you've ruined that. Do you get that? You took away the one thing he had that made all of this okay, the one person who made him feel like he was – ", Sam stopped and looked at Dean on the mattress, "Jesus Dad. It's Dean. Mom was his reason for living".

"And you", John mumbled.

"What?" Sam asked.

"Nothing", John scrubbed at the stubble on his chin. "Look Sam, you and I need to talk".

**Don't you love cliff hangers? Please don't kill me!**

**Okay…that last part? That would be where Sam and John would exchange those soap opera – lingering stares. I could see it in my head as I wrote it.**

**Someone asked for Dean and Sam holding each other crying…I think it was Heather… and as a dutiful author, I have given in and not only made Dean cry, but he hugged Sam. goes off, fork in hand, wondering around looking for that promised pie**

**Life is crazy and in the midst of all the mayhem I lost my mojo, so I don't know how bad this chapter is. But I'm finding my mojo now, so I hope I'll get something really good up soon.**

**I need reviews, they'll help me channel John and Sam! Thank you for reading!! Now scurry off and bake me pies and review…YOU GUYS ROCK MY SOX!**


	27. It All Boils Down To Choices

**So this one ties up a lot of things. But fear not my lovelies, there will be one more chapter, an epilogue of sorts. It might be Wednesday and it might be a week from now. I'm leaving to check out my new house in my new town ( I was supposed to go today, but I'm a bum), so I'll be gone for a while and totally occupied in the in-between.**

**So, the story goes on, and I don't want anybody to get their panties in a bunch over any of it, just remember that there is still an endingto come!**

**I took some liberties with our beloved Bobby and gave him a bit of back story. I hope you all approve! Sorry Heather, no Better Middler!**

_Talk._ Sam thought about _talking_ as he stood there, feet from his father, ready to swing. He hadn't talked to his father since the summer he was six years old, the summer he stopped being the baby that got all of the affection and exactly what he wanted. Sure he'd talked _at_ his father and _about_ his father and even _for _his father a time or two. But it had been a long time since he had the patience or the strength to talk _to_ his father. And the way things had been going, he wasn't sure he had the ability to talk to him without using his hands to express his feelings. But he'd try.

"What do you want to talk about, John?" The words were sharp.

"You do not call me John, do you understand me? I brought you into this world and I will have the respect I am due". John was trying to stay calm and not start something, but this boy he'd raised had turned into a man that pissed him off to no end.

Sam cocked an eyebrow at his father as if to say, 'respect you are due?'

"Fine", Sam 's arms came to cross his chest, "You wanna explain what's going on here?"

"In the kitchen", John turned and made for the door.

"I need to stay with Dean", Sam answered, feet firmly planted, unwilling to move from his guard post.

"Bobby's with him. He'll be fine till we're done. Now please, come with me", John's words softened.

Sam looked back at Dean out cold on the mattress, _damp hair, muddy boots, tattered jeans_. He looked to Bobby, who sat down in the empty chair and nodded his agreement to stand sentry.

Sam reluctantly followed his father out of the room, through the hall and into the dimly lit kitchen. John went to the fridge and pulled out a long neck, offering it to Sam. The young hunter took it and the bottle hissed when he wrenched the top off.

Having taken a bottle for himself, John pulled a chair out, turned it around and straddled it.

"So this is the first time we've sat to talk since you were a kid, huh?" John offered up.

"Yeah, I guess. Unless you count that time in Colorado after Elkins died".

John smiled at the memory. The conversation had started under duress, but in the end he felt they had made some kind of connection.

"What's it about this time, Dad?" Sam spun his bottle in circles, making a small humming noise, knee bouncing. _Nervous energy_.

"It's about you and me", John hesitated a moment, "and your brother".

"I already know Dad. He told me what mom did, and I don't hold anything against anyone. No one knew what would happen". Sam stared his father in the eye, his strong chin sticking out as he tried to look like the adult he was supposed to be.

"That's not it Samuel".

Sam's heart skipped two beats. He could count on his hand the number of times his father had called him Samuel, and they weren't good times.

"What are you talking about?" He put his beer down firmly on the table and dropped his hands to his lap.

"You know what I did, why Dean's been so upset with me. I made that deal not thinking what it would do to him, just hoping it would save him", John started to confess, but Sam put up a hand to stop him.

"I don't want to talk about this, Dad. Please. I can't relive what happened at that hospital".

"That's not what I want to talk to you about. I want to talk to you about something I figured out not too long ago. Something Dean and I talked about a few weeks ago when I called". John was wavering, unsure if he could continue, but the light in Sam's eyes that looked so much like Mary's, forced him on.

A small round light fixture hung from the ceiling fan above the kitchen table and lit the room, casting shadows to the opposite wall and floor. John concentrated on those shadows as he told his son the whole truth for the first time. He started with Dean's cancer and Mary's friend Victoria. He told him about the open ended deal and the demon's promise of collection. Things were okay, Sam had heard all of this before and was taking it well. Then John had to tell him what he knew that would change Sam's existence, what he had asked Dean to do.

"About a year ago, after I found out about the deal your mother made, I found out what all the psychic visions and nightmares were about, too." He rubbed his hands together and tried to maintain eye contact with Sam. "The demon has a plan. He's talking psychics, all of them your age, and building an army. An army he intends to use for his own devices in the biggest war this world has ever seen. You're one of those psychics Sam".

Sam stood immediately, hands over his head, stretching and reaching, as muscles strained and joints popped. "How long?"

"He's been taking them…" But he was cut off by Sam.

"No Dad. How long have you known?" Sam's eyes were piercing.

"Since I left you boys in Chicago".

"What else?" Sam was clenching his jaw the same way his father and brother had been known to.

"I know you don't want to become some kind of soldier in his war. That's the only reason I asked Dean what I did". John was rising from his seat, coming toward Sam, hoping he'd see the heart behind what he'd done.

"What did you ask Dean to do, Dad?" His weight shifted from one foot to the other. _Fight or flight_. He could stay and level a punch or cut and run.

"I asked him to save you. And if he couldn't…I asked him to kill you". John's eyes were blank and his strength and resolve gone, he looked downward in shame.

"You what?" Sam's voice hollowed out as the sound bellowed through the house.

"You have to understand what I understand Sam. Dean would never be able to kill you so he'd have to save you. If anyone could do it, it's your brother", John faltered and stalled. "I didn't mean to hurt you Sammy".

Sam looked at his father like he'd just won the 'stupid' lottery. The expression that followed, however, was one of anger and disgust. "Me Dad? You didn't want to hurt me? What about Dean for Christ sake? Do you have any idea what he has been through? What you have done to him by asking him what you did? Everything that happened in the hospital after the edema, all of the panicking, and passing out, it's because of you!" Sam stepped back and ran his hand through his hair, "He never had you, he lost mom, then you took her away again with your stupid secret, and on top of all that you asked him to do something you're not sure he wouldn't have to do. Why do you do this shit? Don't you see how you hurt us over and over?"

"Sam. Please?" John started to beg.

"No Dad I'm not doing this. Go listen to your Johnny Cash and your Patsy Cline and drink your feelings away. I have to talk to Dean".

Sam left the room, dragging his wounded leg a little as he moved, but feeling like the bigger man. He swung the door to the back room open and saw Dean standing against the wall in his bare feet, knocking dried mud off of his boots. He looked to Bobby in his chair and spoke calmly.

"Can you give us a minute?" He asked.

Bobby nodded and left the room, joining John in the kitchen.

* * *

Sam sat on the bed and propped up his leg. "We need to talk about this Dean". 

"I can't Sammy. I just physically can't anymore. What's done is done. And I'm fine, just over did it I guess". Dean looked down and rubbed the back of his neck, "I fainted like a chick".

Sam didn't comment on Dean's chick moment, just continued on. "I know what Dad asked you to do. I know he wanted you to kill me".

Dean's eyes shot up and landed on Sam's empty gaze. "Save you Sammy, he wants me to save you. And I will. I'm not letting anyone take you or hurt you. It'll never come to killing you. It can't. I can't."

"I know. But Dad's sitting out there now and we have to make some decisions about where we go from here and who's talking this ride".

Dean looked at Sam like he didn't understand. "What are you waxing about over there?"

"We need to decide if we're staying here or hitting the road and we gotta decide what role Dad's playing n this thing. And don't tell me to do what I think is best, I'm not doing this alone Dean."

* * *

One hour, two men, and four beers later, the door to the back room cracked open and Sam's head popped out. "Bobby?" And he was gone again. 

John and the old junk man exchanged glances before Bobby got up and went to the door and let himself in the room, closing it behind himself.

Seconds passed like slow rolling stones as John sat waiting. Alone.

Then the door opened again and Bobby came back to the kitchen. He straddled his own chair and looked John directly in the eye before speaking.

"Barbara always wanted kids. We tried for a long time, but we just never were blessed with em'. Then the MS got bad and all the time we spent trying to have kids we were never gonna get seemed like a lot of wasted moments. She died and I had nobody but that mutt she brought home and the hunters that crossed my path looking for help" Bobby stroked his beard and swallowed hard, it was never easy talking about his wife. "She always told me I'd make one hell of a Daddy, though. And ya know, I think she may have been right. For all the time I've spent being a father to your boys, I certainly think I did do a good job."

John stood, jerking his head as though he wouldn't be subjected to his friends rant.

"No, you're gonna hear me out Johnny. Now sit back down."

And like a good marine, he followed the orders given him.

"You see for a long time your boys needed someone to give em' a place to sleep and food to eat, and a swat on the bottom when they got out of line. And that's what a good father does. I took those boys every time you got a wild hair and ran off after whatever you been chasing all these years. I was part of this God damned family more than you were a lot of times".

"Look Bobby", John started in, "I left those two here so you could watch them, not rear them".

"I never did rear them Johnny. I may have played a good second fiddle as a father, but I've never been their Daddy. You're the only one that gets the love and adoration that goes with that title. I just got the skinned knees and the empty bellies and questions about when was Daddy coming back."

John was sitting in his chair, listening and processing, but never looking at Bobby.

"Now you know I would never cross you, Winchester, and what I'm saying isn't out of anything but loyalty to those boys".

"I understand Bobby. What's going on?" he asked but some part of him already knew the answer.

"They want you to go, Johnny. Asked me to tell you that they'd been fine on their own for the last year and they'll be fine now. They want to take some time and get through all this shit. Said they'd call you when they're ready."

John scrubbed his face and peered down the hall, hoping against he'd get a chance to talk to his boys. "Dean. I want to talk to Dean. I need to."

Bobby shook his head, "I'm sorry. He said he would call you when the time was right Johnny. They're grown men now, you have to let them do this their way…together, just like you taught them."

"Okay. Just uh", John faltered for a moment, not completely sure of what he should be saying or doing. He reached in to his pocket and pulled out a roll of cash. "Just give them this. Make sure they got what they need before you let them go." John put the roll in Bobby's hand and slipped on his coat. "Tell them I'll wait and that I'm sorry."

And John Winchester walked out, vanishing from the lives of his son's as he had so many times before, but this time he was leaving on their terms and not his own.

* * *

It had been weeks since John left. The boys stayed at Bobby's house, Sam reading and studying the books that filled the building, while Dean disappeared into the yard to work on rebuilding the impala. Most days Dean was up brewing coffee before Sam's eyes cracked open. They would share a cup of coffee and small talk in the early morning light, then Dean would go to work on the car and Sam would try to make the rest of their lives seem as normal as they had been before the demon and the accident and the edema. 

The first week saw the stitches removed form Sam's leg while the second stretched out filled with meals cooked by Sam and lazy cool evenings. He'd cook something simple, like burgers or spaghetti and bring out to Dean in the yard where they'd sit in the shell of the car and eat and talk, like they used to. By the end of the third week Dean was ready to drop the engine in the impala. Bobby helped both of them, explaining legends in his ancient textbooks to Sam and shimming the starter in the car for Dean.

Night's were boring, sitting around with Bobby watching TV and drinking beer. He'd offered them the keys to an old junker he kept running, telling them to take it into town, hit a few bars, have a good time. But Sam was never was never one for bars and Dean didn't feel like looking for a good time. So they sat together, everyday, talking about nothing avoiding saying things that needed to be said.

Then the afternoon came that the car was finally done and no one would come out and say it, but they had no business staying there any longer. Bobby came out to find Dean buffing the car for the third hour, Sammy putting all of the weapons back into the false bottom.

"Boys, I think I need your help", Bobby announced as he and Cletus approached them.

Dean dropped the towel on the hood and looked at Bobby, "What's up?"

"Friend of mine in Nebraska has a hunt. Some weird shit. Parents mutilated, kids left alive. All of em' claim they saw a clown".

Sam swallowed hard and dropped down to scratch at the dogs oversized ears.

"Thought it sounded easy enough for you boys to break back into the game. What do ya say?" Bobby was staring hopefully.

"I'm in. What about you Sammy?"

"Yeah, I can do that. When do we leave?"

Bobby smiled and whistled for the dog as he walked back into the house. "Soon as you get your shit and get out of my house". There was no heat in the statement, just love.

Twenty minutes later they were loading up the car and saying their goodbyes.

Sam hugged Bobby and whispered his thanks and promises to call often as he got into the car, leaving Dean to make some kind of peace.

Bobby stood like a pillar in front of the car, hand extended. Dean grabbed that hand and pulled him into an honest hug. "Thank you for everything you did for Sam while I was out of commission. And thanks for the place to stay and the help with the car. You call us when you need us". He clapped Bobby on the back and pulled out of the embrace.

Singer put out his other hand, the roll of money John left teetering in his palm. "Your Daddy left it, said to tell you he was sorry".

Dean looked at the Sam in the passenger seat then back to the money, before looking up at Bobby and shaking his head. "Don't need it. We've done fine without him for a lot of years, we can do it again."

Bobby just smiled as Dean got in the car and started the heap of shining metal. The engine purred and the radio screamed as they rolled away from the yard.

"Come on Cletus", Bobby patted his thigh to engage the pup, "let's go call Johnny boy and let him know our boys are alright."

* * *

An hour into the ride and eighty miles down the road, Dean turned off the music and looked at Sam. 

"You know everything's gonna work out, right?" He asked his little brother.

"Yeah, I know", Sam replied.

But Dean wasn't buying it, he knew Sam was just saying what he thought Dean wanted to hear.

"Hey", Dean grabbed him by the chin and turned his brother's face toward his own. "I'm looking out for you Sammy. And if it's the last thing I do, I'm gonna save you".

**Cheesy much? I thought it was the perfect ending…you know reaffirm what the second season ended up being about: saving Sam, not just mourning John.**

**Yeah, Bobby. I have always pictured him as a man who had a past he didn't like to share, but it was never a shady past. I can't see someone like him going through life and never having love (add schmoopy sounds here). You can't be that caring having never received love. So yeah…Barbara Singer. I imagine they used to sit in rockers in the morning, drinking coffee while the sun danced into the room, just enjoying each others company. Like cute old people.**

**Don't forget that the last chapter is still coming!! AND…I have a new fiction I've started that I'll give you a title for next time! Please look for it and give it a read!!**

**As always, I love reviews because they make the muse do his little dance, and always accept peach pie! Go on now, go review (they will help make the last chapter better and faster)! --shoos the fangirls off to their computers--**


	28. The Best Family They Knew How To Be

**After too much waiting, here it is, the final chapter. I have loved every moment of writing this and adored every one of your reviews. Thank you for wasting your free time reading this stuff, I really do appreciate it. I hope this is okay and I don't make any enemies…it is the only way I saw for this to end. You guys rock…now go on and read…**

Five years, seven months, and twelve days. One hundred and sixty two angry spirits, eleven black dogs, eighty-six vampires, four chupacabras, nine wendigos, thirty-five water rafes, two hundred and six demons, and twenty-one skin walkers. Thirteen concussions, eight broken bones, two hundred and two stitches, thirty one cracked and bruised ribs, and seven weeks of hospital stays. They had Bobby and Jefferson and Father Courville and Dwight and Joshua. But more than that, they had each other.

They were Will and Henry from time to time and Emerson and Jack when they needed to be. But when they stopped for the night, locked the door, laid the salt lines, and readied the guns, they were Sam and Dean. Sammy got a gig writing articles for an online magazine and stuck with it till the editor started digging into Emerson Paige's academic records. Dean was in a train accident when he was twenty-nine, the angry spirit of a rail man, and broke his hip. _No planes, no trains. Just automobiles from now on._ He walked with a barely noticeable limp after that.

On that twelfth day, of that seventh month, in that fifth year, the sun crept over the horizon and found Dean sitting on the trunk of the impala sipping coffee from a paper cup. The steam from the brew wafted from the cup and bloomed in the frigid air. He had been up most of the night, just like every other night in the past two weeks. Something was off and he didn't know what exactly. Something had burrowed into his chest and stayed there, convincing him something was wrong. It ate at him and kept him awake, it snuck up on him while he was working and distracted him from the job, it sunk into his stomach when they stopped for food and ran off his appetite. At first it was this annoying something in the back of his mind, _did I close the garage, is the oven on, did I turn off the coffee pot?_ But as the days stretched on and Sam began taking notice and it started scaring the younger man, Dean started to worry it was some kind of brother radar telling him that things were coming to a head and he'd have to save Sammy soon. Or kill him.

He swallowed his fears and chased them with some coffee before returning to the warm confines of the latest in a long string of no-tell-motels. He closed the door quietly behind him, making sure he didn't wake his brother who was still fast asleep under a pile of blankets, size fourteen, sock covered feet hanging off the end.

He put his boots up on the table and leaned back in his chair, flipping through a pile of newspaper clippings Sam had collected. He was getting into an article in the Canton Gazette about a string of mysterious deaths when his phone lit up and started buzzing.

"Hello?"

"Dean, how you boys doing?" Bobby's gruff voice came clearly over the line.

"Well, I'm getting older and Sam's getting smarter", Dean chuckled a little, feeling the rumble in bones that felt more than thirty-two years old. "How about you?"

"I could complain, but I won't." Bobby hesitated for a moment, "Listen, where are you boys about now?"

Dean picked up the take out menu on the table in front of him and scanned for a name. "Pete's Foot, Montana".

"Pete's Foot? Where the hell is that?"

"Too far north. Too damn cold. Why what's up?" Bobby called them from time to time, checking in on them like a good father would and giving them leads on hunts like a good friend would.

"I need you two to come over here. Got something I need you to see about." Bobby never gave sensitive information over the phone, he always waited till the boys were in his line of sight to explain.

"Well, it's gonna take us about a day to get there. Can it wait that long?" Dean asked, already standing to pack his duffel.

"Yeah, but don't go screwing around, come straight here", Bobby warned.

"Alright Bobby, we'll see you tomorrow", Dean closed.

"You boys be careful". And Bobby hung up. He always told them to be careful, weather they were going out to grab chow or driving cross country, he always felt it needed to be said.

* * *

Dean stared at Sam for a minute, wishing he could sleep that peacefully. He remembered a time when Sam didn't sleep at all, constantly dreaming of Jessica's death. He was lying on his stomach, head turned to the left, arms buried under his pillow. He looked so serene, dead to the world, completely lost to sleep and comfort. 

"I can fix that", Dean said to the open room.

The seasoned hunter in him made stealthy moves across the room, right next to Sam's bed. He dropped his weight slowly on to the bed, the old frame squeaked and a coil in the mattress popped. Dean stopped and waited for a sign that Sam had woken up, then continued when his brother said nothing.

But Sam had woken, one eye popping open when he felt the dip of the mattress and heard the squeak of the frame. He held still where he was, uncertain what Dean was doing, but pretty sure it was something stupid. He closed his eye and waited.

Dean reached across Sam's body and tickled the back of his neck. Sam held his tongue and twitched a little, but never let on his was awake.

Dean sighed at the lack of response and moved on. He reached for Sam's ear lobe and gave it a little tug, but again, Sam didn't move, only grunted a little. _How the hell was he supposed to get any sleep with Dean screwing around?_

Wedgies, whoopee cushions, and 'pull my finger', Dean had grown out of. Wet-willies he had not. He stuck his index finger in his mouth and pulled it out with an audible pop. Sam knew what was coming now, and there was no way he was going to let that happen. As Dean inched just close enough to Sam's ear to follow through with his plan, Sam came through with a threat of his own.

"You touch me again, and I'll break both of your thumbs." That was it, no movement, no lashing out, just a simple threat Dean couldn't be sure he wouldn't follow through with. So he stood up and retrieved Sam's discarded jeans from the floor.

"Time to get up, Freak", Dean announced, "Bobby's got something for us so we need to head out soon."

Sam growled at the idea of leaving his warm cocoon on the bed.

Dean threw the jeans at his brother where they landed on his head in a pile, "Get up sweetheart, car's leaving in thirty minutes with or without you."

* * *

It was the same ride they had take a million times before: straight up the interstate, turn off at exit number 187, make a left onto Firethorn Road, and follow it till it turns to gravel. Dean had taken his baby down that stretch so many times, he was sure she knew the way on her own. 

When they finally crossed the iron gates of 'Singer's Salvage' it was late afternoon and both Winchesters were exhausted. Dean parked it right in front, behind Bobby's rig.

Sam climbed out of the car, stretching his legs and raising his arms over his head, as Bobby slipped out of the screen door. All two hundred and something pounds of Cletus came barreling toward Sam, but the animal stopped abruptly when his chain ran short. Sam walked over to the beast and scratched him behind the ears while rubbing his belly with the other hand.

"How was the drive?" Bobby asked.

"Long." Dean closed the back door and slung his bag over his shoulder before extending his hand to Bobby.

Singer took the hand and shook it firmly before pulling Dean into a brief hug.

"What about you?"

Bobby lifted the filthy ball cap from his head and scratched at his scalp. It was his tell, Dean had seen it before. What ever was going on, Bobby wasn't a willing participant and it made him uncomfortable. He dodged the question, anxious to get things moving along.

"Let's head on into the house and out of this cold. I'll get you two some coffee." He didn't wait for the brothers reaction, just turned his back and headed for the house.

"What's this hunt?" Dean questioned as they walked up the drive.

Bobby stopped cold in his tracks and his blue eyes pierced Dean. "Not a hunt boys."

Dean dropped his bags and looked at Sam then back to Bobby. "What are you talking about?"

"Come on in the house. You'll understand." The old man ate up the few feet to the door and slipped inside before either of the boys could make any protestations.

* * *

of windows in every room, but a lack of light. It wasn't that Bobby kept the shades drawn to keep sunlight out, it was the books that piled up to the ceiling that blocked it out. They lined every wall in every room, up against the windows, in front of chairs, and blocking any clear path. 

Today was the same, bright outside, dark inside. When Sam stepped through the door first he followed Bobby into the kitchen, eyes straight ahead. Dean brought up the rear, dropping his bag near the entryway, stopping dead in his tracks when he saw the form of a man in the recliner near the front window. It was dark enough that Dean couldn't see who the man was, so he stepped softly toward the man.

"Shit", Bobby sputtered when he saw Dean moving.

When Dean got close enough he could see his fathers face. His skin was tinted yellow and he was easily thirty pounds lighter than he had been the last time he'd seen him. "Dad?" Dean stepped closer.

John turned his head and opened his eyes, glossed with pain. There was a thin sheen of sweat on his brow and his breathing was labored and ragged. He smiled at the sight of his oldest son. "Dean."

Dean caught himself as his knees buckled. "What's wrong Dad? Are you hurt?" John's skin was cold and clammy when Dean touched him.

"Dean", Bobby interrupted. "Come in the kitchen and I'll explain."

Dean patted his father's hand and nodded to Bobby. "Yeah, okay."

In the kitchen Bobby asked both boys to sit down. Sam had seen his father and watched his and Dean's brief exchange. He was more than willing to sit, his head swimming a little from a sighting of the Great John Winchester. Dean opted to stand, no way he could plant himself anywhere.

"Your Daddy came here a few weeks ago." Bobby was leaning against the sink clearly searching for the right words. "He's on his last leg boys. About a year ago some white coat told him he had cirrhosis and a few months back it changed to liver failure."

Sam couldn't help it. "Holy shit", slipped past his lips.

"He showed up looking for a place to rest. Told me when it got bad he wanted me to call you two. He wants to make some kind of peace with you before he goes."

"I…I don't understand", Sam stuttered. Dean was completely silent, hands shoved in his pockets.

"Since the day your Mama died, the only curves your Daddy has had his hands on belonged to the bottle. Been hitting it harder these last few years." Bobby looked away in the direction of the den where John was, "I guess Jim and Jack and Jose finally caught up to him."

"How long?" Sam asked.

"Don't know for sure. It's been getting worse everyday. He's conscious a few minutes a day, coming to long enough to ask for painkillers, then he passes out again. I'm sorry. It shouldn't be long."

Dean hadn't moved since the conversation started but now he was moving, rushing out the door and ignoring the way Sam called him name.

He made it to the gravel drive and dropped down, desperation and anguish drawing him out of the confines of the house and away from the issue.

When Sam made it out of the door he immediately saw Dean and heard him mumbling. He crossed the drive and stopped behind Dean. He was squatting in the gravel, his head between his knees, and his hands on the back of his neck. He was chanting over and over again, "not like this, it's not time yet, he can't go."

"Hey, hey", Sam was whispering and grabbing Dean's shoulder.

Dean shot up at the touch, spinning around in time to see Sam stand up again.

"Shit, I can't do this man. I knew this was coming, ya know? I've had this horrible feeling for weeks now. This is what it was." Dean was pacing, his hands running from his hair to his chin to his hips, then back to his hair.

"Not eating, not sleeping", Sam was putting the pieces together, "I knew something was bothering you."

"Yeah", Dean scoffed. "So what do we do now?"

Sam stepped in front of Dean to stop him. He looked him in the eye, "We go back in there and talk to him. Say what's got to be said."

Dean closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Together?"

"Well, I'm not gonna hold your hand", Sam laughed softly and tried to lighten the mood, "But yeah, we'll do it together."

* * *

A dull yellow and muted green blanket was draped across his legs and torso, doing what little it could to protect his failing body from the bitter cold that crept up through the floor boards. He was aware that the end was coming, but it didn't bother him. He knew that this was his chance to see his sons again and tell them all the things he never said. And he knew that once he drew his last breath he'd see his own father again and get the chance to kiss his mothers soft cheek and finally, finally hold Mary close to him again. 

When he opened his eyes, Dean was sitting on top of a pile of books to his right and Sam was in a chair on his left. Dean was holding his hand, his own so cold and Dean's so warm and soft.

"Hey Dad", Dean whispered. "How you feeling?"

"Do you need anything?" Sam piped in.

John smiled, his lips stretching weakly across his teeth. "Not bad", he drew a ragged breath. "Got what I need."

Dean kept going, he knew if he stopped now he'd never do this. "Bobby told us what's going on Dad, about the liver failure. Why…" Dean gave himself a second to catch his breath, "Why didn't you call us?"

"I wanted to give you boys time. Get past what happened all those years ago." Every word John said floated on raspy breaths.

"But you're sick Dad. We could have been there, taken care of you," Sam pressed.

John smiled again and shook his head slowly, "Needed you out on the road saving people, not sitting on your hands watching an old man die."

Sam held his tongue. He wanted to tell his father that it should have been his choice, not John's. But he knew that now was not the time and any heated words spoken would only be a waste of time and breath.

"Listen boys," John licked his lips, "I want you to know that no matter how things appeared or what happened I always did what I thought was best. I never meant to hurt you two. I only wanted to raise you right and protect you. Because I love you."

"Dad," Dean mumbled in protest.

"No son, let me…" he closed his eyes and took deep breaths, clearly in pain. "Let me finish saying what I need to say to you."

Dean nodded.

"I'm sorry you had to be the parent all those years Dean. I'm sorry you had to take care of your brother and I and that you never got to be a kid. I'm sorry for all the things I've asked you to do over the years that I had no right to ask. I am so proud of you for being the man you are, you are so much more than this old man deserves."

Dean squeezed his fathers hand and looked him in the eye, "You made me this way Dad. I wouldn't be this man if it weren't for you."

John smiled at his oldest son before he turned to Sam. "And Sammy. Every time I look at you I see your mother. She had the same eyes and the same stubborn streak. You're smart like her Sammy. And that heart of yours, you got it from her too. There are so many things that I wanted you to have when you were growing up, but I was too stubborn to give them to you. I remember after Mary died you'd cry and cry and cry. One night you looked at me and said 'Mama'. I didn't know what to do, so I handed you to your brother and I drank a bottle of whiskey. After that it was always 'Dean' when you were upset. I was never there for you. I never gave you a home or a real life. I never saw you for who you really were Sam and I'm sorry."

Sam sniffled and brushed John's hair from his sweaty brow. "It took me a lot of years to understand you Dad. Looking back on things I can see that you were trying. I know it wasn't easy after mom died. When Jessica died I had Dean to lean on. When mom died you had nowhere to lean, you just had us leaning on you. No one can get through that alone, but somehow you did. And you don't have to apologize for anything that I didn't get growing up. My home has always been where you two took me and I never needed more than that."

John's eye were shinning with tears and pain as he looked at his son's, more pride and love in his chest than he'd ever felt before. He had his son's and that was all he needed now.

"We love you Dad and we're gonna stay here with you as long as we need to." Dean gave his father the best smile he had and settled in for the long haul.

"Thank you", John whispered as his eyes closed and he slipped off to sleep.

* * *

In the end, it was three days. Three days of sitting at their father's side, drinking gallons of coffee and never sleeping for fear of missing any moment they had left. Three days of blankets and painkillers and holding hands. Three days of talking about life on the road and the memories they all shared. Three days of talking about being more than hunters, of being Winchesters. Three days of being the best kind of family they knew how to be. 

And late on a Tuesday afternoon, with his final breath, John whispered "Mary" and slipped away from this world.

Dean locked himself in the back bedroom for two hours and Sam cried on Bobby's shoulder. When Dean did finally come out Bobby silently took his keys and left the brothers alone to try and make some peace with what had happened. They hugged and told each other that things would be okay as long as they stuck together. They told their father good-bye for the last time and covered his body.

The next afternoon they built a funeral pyre and burned the shell that had carried their father for so many years. His soul was gone now to a better place where he could finally be with the woman he loved, away from the pain and the demons and the fight.

Their father had two dog tags, one for each son. Dean hung his on his key chain and Sam kept his in his wallet. Constant reminders of who their father was.

Sam gave Dean the space he thought he needed, never asking him questions, just watching him sulk and brood. By the end of the week he knew it was time for them to move on, so he asked the question that would decide their plan of action. He was in the kitchen cleaning his gun for the hundredth time when Sam approached him. He didn't sugar coat it or beat around the bush, he just asked.

"Are you okay?" Hazel eyes shinning with emotion.

Dean put the gun and the towel down on the table and looked up at Sam. "No. But I will be."

* * *

Like Jesse and Frank James they rode off into the sunset to wage another battle and stir up a little more trouble. In the years to come they would fight to save Sam and strive to live a happy life. They would lose more friends and more family down the road. They eventually killed the yellow eyed demon and ended a lifetime of fighting. They carried on, destroying evil and saving innocent people, never forgetting what their father taught them. 

No matter where life took them or who they claimed to be or where the abandoned roads and back highways led, they were just two bothers fighting the good fight. Two Winchesters. Sam and Dean.

_The End_

**Can you believe it's over? I am so sad to end this story. I looked back and I have been writing for almost six months. I have received more than 450 reviews, not one of them anything but love and praise. I wish I could do the same for all of you, you have truly inflated my ego at times. A lot of times writing this story took me away from the pressures of work and real life, at others it was something I didn't think I could do. Thank you all so much for taking this ride with me, thank you for reading my story and praising it's ups and downs. From the first chapter you guys cheered me on and made writing this so much fun! You are the greatest group of readers and may I say, not for the first time and hopefully not for the last, YOU ROCK MY SOX! 'He Don't Need No Hoodoo Mojo' is complete.**

**All that said, my new fiction should start soon. It will be titled 'Grown Up Orphans'. I know you will all love it, so please keep an eye out for it.**

**NOW…I need peach pie and ice cream. Heather, I know that schmoopy mess earned me both. So go forth and review, prove that you really love me.**


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